


You're Still Home (To Me)

by tinytendril



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Mutual Pining, Parent Death, Requited Love, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 63,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinytendril/pseuds/tinytendril
Summary: With good intentions in mind, Theon impulsively mails a letter that Robb never meant to send to his ex, Margaery. After a year apart, Robb never expected Margaery to return because of this letter. Along with her comes the reality of her new life without him. Meanwhile, Theon tries to justify recruiting Robb’s sister in his scheme to get Robb and Margaery back together, but his own complicated feelings about Sansa start to surface.
Relationships: Robb Stark & Margaery Tyrell, Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Theon Greyjoy & Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 81
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1 - Title taken from the song lyrics of 'Nebraska' - Oh Wonder. A lot of the themes of not being able to let go of a past love or feelings for someone you might have left behind are a big influence for this fic. 
> 
> 2 - This is a Modern AU, mostly set against a hospital/big city backdrop, and therefore there are lot changes to settings and characterizations, however I hope I managed to fuse some character traits along with my own modern take on the characters. For instance, maybe you'll catch the fact that Kingsland is a play on King's Landing or Stormsend is Storm's End. 
> 
> 3 - A [tumblr post](https://tinytendril.tumblr.com/post/613247630659698688/youre-still-home-to-me-a-robbaery-au-fic-with) that shows some aesthetics of Robb and Margaery in this AU.

  
_  
I've been to Heaven, oh, how I've tried  
_ _To get you out my mind but_  
 _You're still home_

_Nebraska - Oh Wonder_   
**  
  
ROBB**

The rhythmic beeping and bustling outside his office, the sounds of Kingsland Hospital’s Internal Medicine unit, isn’t what’s rousing him from his paperwork, but something else piques Robb’s attention. He hears the familiar voices of his students talking about his meeting with them at early morning rounds, praising him, disbelieving their luck to be assigned as residents in his training program. He cranes his neck a bit further so he can peer past the ficus and the other greenery his mother bought him for his office, past the blinds he’s only partially closed of his office window, to find that his students are talking to his sister, a nurse who doesn’t work on his floor. The fact that she’s ventured from birthing mothers and her maternity unit gives him a legitimate reason to eavesdrop even more. 

‘Your brother, he’s brilliant.’ He hears Meera Reed say.

‘He’s doing quite well teaching you lot, isn’t he?’ He smiles to hear Sansa join in on their praises. 

His sister, as nurturing as her job demands her to be, must be feeling glad to be saying these things about him. After this past year, anyone _but_ Sansa wouldn’t have waited this long to sort himself out. But she did, and now he even spies her smiling brightly at Meera and the other students around the nurse’s station.

And this only makes Robb ruminate over his past year, thinking of making it through his last weeks of fellowship to finally getting his qualifications to teach his current residents, and _just_ making it past his three year relationship and subsequent break up with...

On second thought, Robb wills himself not to follow this line of thinking, and even propels himself from behind his desk to attempt to stop the next voice he hears. 

‘It’s about time too,’ Theon adds, standing next to Sansa, winking at the residents as he continues. ‘He was tragic for about half a year after his ex, and the second half of last year was something short of a miracle to see him in the pubs I’ve dragged him to. I’m just glad that he’s not noticed Margaery coming through town.’

‘Y’arite, Greyjoy?’ Robb nudges his way between his sister and Theon, reaching for a patient’s chart as if he were meant to read it, only to give the pair of them a meaningful look that manages to shoo the residents away. 

The nurses stop their charting to look up to watch a usually cocksure Theon fidget in his scrubs. Theon’s scrubs, he notices, are pristine. So, Robb starts to question his sister’s presence again, and why Theon is not on his surgical floor where he’s infinitely more at home than where Robb’s coworkers could be suspiciously eyeing him up and down (as they continue to do so now). Technically, when their schedules align, his sister and Theon do join him for lunch around this time, but that would mean meeting in communal areas like the cafeteria.

There was also the mention of a name he knows Sansa, and the rest of his family, have been avoiding for him. When did Theon exactly know that _she_ was in town? How did _he_ know about _her_ whereabouts?

‘What are you two doing here?’ Robb drops his pretenses and hands the chart back to the nurses, gesturing Theon and Sansa to follow him into his office. ‘You’re both clearly up to something.’

Somehow, their good intentions—the way they have been rooting for him, not just for the times he’s needed it in the past year, but also in the weeks that led up to him taking on leadership in the hospital as an attending doctor and teacher—has led to some conflicting feelings. This gesture, their obvious joint effort in checking in on him today, has him feeling like the patients he brings his students to during rounds—prodded, examined, and ultimately judged. It makes his skin feel heated, itchy.

‘Robb. Robb.’ Theon claps his hand on his shoulder, a toothy grin on him that does nothing to brush off Robb’s suspicions. ‘Robb—’

‘Theon,’ Robb mimics his tone, annoyed, shrugging his hand off. 

‘You’ve not got a cat in hell’s chance in fooling him,’ Sansa interjects briskly, though her eyes are clearly showing she’s amused. ‘Robb, you’re all the residents at this hospital ever talk about, and it’s only your first week of teaching. We just wanted to visit you, take you out for dinner to properly celebrate—’

‘Make sure you aren’t eating alone again,’ Theon adds, guffawing until he flinches from Sansa’s glaring.

‘You saw me doing that once.’ Robb shakes his head when Theon looks disbelieving, adding, ‘I was just grabbing a quick bite for lunch, and getting over a cold—’

Sansa angles her elbow for Theon’s ribs, exasperated. ‘ _Boys_.’

Truthfully, he can’t say he didn’t expect this show of support, but he nearly bursts to say, ‘I’m actually going to dinner with Jeyne Westerling, that letting agent you hired to sell mum and dad’s cottage, Sans. You remember? Well, she gave me her card, I called, and I…’

Robb finds himself trailing off because Theon’s twitching expression is distracting him. Sansa, however, takes this news well enough. 

‘Oh, she’s lovely. Have fun, and don’t worry about this one,’ Sansa assures him while elbowing Theon’s side again. ‘He’s just sad because he’s a deeply insecure man underneath it all. All the girls on the surgical floor couldn’t crack that hard surface, but you always manage to, Robb.’

Theon just lets out a puff of laughter after this, clearly surprised by the uncommon snark from her, maybe even impressed by the jab to his ego. 

‘Thanks, I’m sure it’ll be great,’ Robb gives his own assurance to them. Only, he’s suddenly suspicious again, this time of Theon’s lack of being hyperbolic in instances that have anything to do with his love life or the opposite sex, specifically like his date tonight.

When Sansa finally moves to leave, Robb pulls Theon back before he starts to exit his office too, ‘Theon, a minute, mate.’

‘Yo,’ Theon tries his toothy smile again.

‘You two don’t have to keep acting this way around me. And don’t say you two have finally let up walking on eggshells since...well, you know.’ Robbs lifts a hands up before Theon can interrupt. ‘With that said...thank you. I wouldn’t have gotten through last year if it wasn’t for you two. But, if you can’t tell, I’m doing pretty well. I’m fine. In fact, I’m more than fine, I’m excited about tonight too.’

There is a beat where an indiscernible expression crosses Theon’s features, but he finally spreads a slight, lopsided grin that Robb knows is genuine. ‘He’s a reet clogger, tha’s why. I wasn’t worried about you, you’re a fighter, I knew you’d be fine.’

‘I am.’ 

Theon’s veiled attempts at cheery conversation peaks here, forfeiting to rescheduling a lunch date with him and Sansa when they’re all available. Robb does feel indebted to them.

'Let's just make sure your sister doesn't pick another restaurant,' Theon suggests, chuckling. 'She always picks and it's always awful.'

Eventually, after Theon turns their conversation into recommendations of what restaurant would be best for his date with Jeyne, it becomes more and more apparent to Robb that he’s kidding himself for denying his curiosity and the reason he pulled him aside in the first place. In the grand scheme of things, what he was about to ask Theon would be inconsequential. _She’s_ not here, and that didn’t matter either, so as Theon makes it to the door, he blurts out, ‘When did you see her?’

Theon grips the door frame he meant to cross, his knuckles white. ‘Who?’

Robb only raises a single brow, expectant.

‘Margaery?’ Theon tries and fails to sound nonchalant. ‘I didn’t see her. Yara bumped into her a couple of days ago. Apparently visiting from Stormsend. But, you knew that she’d been living there...Anyway, I would’ve told you, but then we haven’t talked about her in so long, and you’ve always tried not to...Then, as you know, my massive, blabbing mouth told your students all about your business.’

‘I do know,’ Robb agrees, sighing to realize his short-lived, lifted mood for the workweek.

‘So y’arite, right?’ Theon asks, weakly.

‘I’m fine,’ Robb says automatically, realizing that he can’t help if the words are a little wooden from repeating himself. 

* * *

Jeyne Westerling is primping, dotting her lips with pink lip colour as she examines her reflection from a small compact mirror. He was nervous on his way back from the restroom, wondering if he had made a decent enough impression when they first sat down together at the Thai restaurant Theon suggested, but he makes the decision to calm himself when she finally spies him from the corner of her mirror. 

Sheepishly, she confesses, ‘To my horror, I had something stuck in my teeth, and then I started fussing over my looks.’ 

‘Your looks are perfectly fine,’ he reassures her, and he means it. 

Jeyne is pretty with her good-natured smile and a pink flush on her cheeks that he’s starting to notice comes on so easily for her. From sharing laughs about their identical, nearly non-existent dating life, to the way she relates to his nerves, he can tell that the rest of their night might actually go smoothly. She even tells him that she’d love to meet Greywind, regardless of never having owned her own pet before.

Margaery hated the idea of living with Greywind, he remembers. It took her ages to warm to the idea of moving in and cohabiting with his husky. But, to his surprise, after coming home from his midnight shift on the first night that she had moved in, she was found curled up to Greywind by the fireplace. 

‘Sorry, did you not catch that?’ Jeyne looks puzzled when she asks him.

He realizes that he must have drifted from her line of questioning.

‘Sorry,’ he says, and, again, means it. 

Robb can’t exactly explain why he’s thought of Margaery once again. He knows it happens. They had three years of accumulated life together. In the past several months, he’s found random tokens and clothing at his flat, some scattered in places he hadn’t expected to find them in. They were remnants of their relationship, and, naturally, they urged him to drift into a memory with each found item, like when he found their overpriced replica of a Fabergé egg from their holiday in Russia because he was rummaging deep enough into his closet, or when he found one of her blue oxford shirts that he knew she’d be missing after she had moved out. She probably mistook it for one of his own. She loved slipping into his button-ups around the flat.

Truthfully, these lapses into memories of her have been happening less and less over the past year. In fact, on his past dates, he’s had some success in keeping the memories at bay. Yet, here he is, thinking of her when he’s sat across from another woman. He’s also fully aware of the fact that he really shouldn’t be wondering if Margaery’s still in town, and he tries to squash the urge to imagine what might have transpired between her and Yara.

‘Do you think about it sometimes?’ Jeyne tucks a lock of her wavy, brown ringlets behind her ear, flushing again. 

Is his sudden drifting so obvious that she’s nervous again?

‘Erm—I don’t usually think about—I mean, not all the time. Sometimes.’

‘I mean, it’s only natural for some people.’

‘It is?’

‘Well, of course, marriage is a massive deal. I’m not saying I’m completely ready, but it’s good to know you’re not afraid to talk about it.’

Robb can feel himself physically relax and doesn’t stop to stifle a chuckle from foolishly thinking he’d given himself away. ‘Right. Right…’

His focus is pulled in and out from this though. Margaery, he remembers, famously had plans to marry him at the peak of his career, telling him to finish his fellowship and quickly start on a new ambition. 

‘We can talk about something else, think about lighter topics, shall we?’ There’s Jeyne’s kind smile again.

Guiltily, he nods, ‘Aye, of course.’ 

It’s not until Robb drops her off, after he finally wills himself to solely concentrate on Jeyne, and when her hand grasps for his as they reach her apartment complex’s entrance, that he thinks he might sink into her gaze and stop distracting himself. He could stop overthinking. Maybe, he thinks, he could try and sink a bit deeper and melt into a kiss. 

_Don’t think. Just do it,_ Robb repeats these words inwardly.

He doesn’t fall back, but he doesn’t feel himself leaning in either. What he does is pause even longer than when he lost himself in their earlier conversations, time in which he spent drifting. Then, he lets this indecision take over, and he finally feels her hand slip out of his. 

‘Robb, is something wrong?’ She crosses her arms.

‘No—no, not at all.’ He sighs, and adds, ‘Tonight was nice. Really.’ 

‘It was,’ she agrees, though she clearly sounds disappointed. 

‘I could—I mean, could I call you?’ He hates that he can't offer much more, and he hates that he can’t explain his behaviour to himself even more.

‘Sure,’ she says, and, after an awkward beat, she reaches for him with arms outstretched. 

‘Oh,’ he chuckles as if he didn’t expect her to take his weak offer so well, and pulls her into a hug. 

‘I’ll call, I promise,’ he says after they let each other go. 

She smiles at this, but he recognizes the way her smile doesn’t exactly reach her eyes this time. 

Jeyne’s good-natured smile and his guilt follow him home. Sitting in his flat’s living room, holding Jeyne’s business card, folding it in half as he clenches and unclenches his fist, he goes back and forth with an idea. A way he can remedy his indecisiveness. 

‘Fucking hell,’ he snaps.

Like a man possessed, he finds himself walking out of his flat, past his car and multiple bus stops on his way, walking toward the hospital. He walks the three blocks to his destination, with the brisk Autumn air filling his lungs and one thing on his mind.

Some nurses stop to greet him when he arrives at his floor, wondering what he could be doing back so soon. 

‘Misplaced something,’ he hurriedly tells a few curious coworkers. 

Underneath messages from colleagues and medical literacy in the drawer of his desk, he starts to look through his belongings.

‘For fuck's sake…’

As he rummages, he rationalizes that the handwritten letter he was looking for had no reason to be accidentally mailed out without him writing a return address or using a stamp. 

‘Where in the hell…’

A creeping panic starts to settle in him as his desk drawers become barer and barer.

‘It has to be here…’

In his haste, while getting on his knees to root through his belongings just _one_ more time, he senses a presence hovering by his open doorway. Without looking up, he dismissively offers, ‘If you need help, the charge nurse or the attending doctor may be around on the floor. I’m sorry I—’

‘Was never very good at delegating jobs when you’re always so desperate to do it yourself. That must be why you’re doing your own housekeeping now. Really, love...’

Margaery Tyrell, as characteristic as it is of her to show up late to a party, invites herself into his office without so much as him acknowledging her. 

He starts, getting to his feet with a few stray letters crumpled in his shaky, clenching fists. Her eyes flit from his eyes to his hands, which slowly start to drop loose papers. 

‘Doing a bit of a cleanup, can’t trust anyone to do that,’ he hears himself explain so casually that he finds it almost laughable, as if her presence wasn’t a surprise, and he holds back a _What are you doing here?_

What _was_ she doing here? In the middle of the night, after the day he’s had to try to repress thoughts of her. He hasn’t conjured up another daydream, and he tells himself that he isn’t hallucinating due to his frantic search. If he moved past his desk and crossed his office, he could reach out and prove it...

From here, even in the gloom of his office at night, with only a warm cast of light from a nearby standing lamp, he realizes this _is_ her. Her big, perceptive eyes, her red-lipped smirk, her tousle of blonde curls over her shoulders, and her perfectly tailored dress hugging at all her distracting curves. It could only be the real Margaery to persuade with a single look. He stops himself from reacting though, no matter how tempted he is to admit how strikingly beautiful she’s remained.

Stubbornly, he fights the truth of how little his efforts in restraint actually help. Regardless of focusing on how she’s often late, how she sometimes imposes her presence on others, or waiting a maddening length of time for an apology or explanation from her, none of it would matter in the end. All she had to do was cross the threshold of his office to prove how an objectively infuriating thing like being late, inconsiderate, or intrusive was irrelevant to the way she makes him feel. 

‘You look good, Robb,’ she says as she crosses the room to stand in front of his desk. ‘Going on a date?’

‘How did you—’

‘You’re wearing your good suit, well, part of it. Ah, there’s the rest of it, that jacket I told you to replace ages ago, on your chair. On second thought, considering your messy hair, the way you’ve rolled up the sleeves of a perfectly pressed dress shirt, and because it’s unlike you to keep someone waiting while you do whatever it is you’re doing right now, you must’ve left your date early.’

She makes him feel, that’s for sure, and he feels everything bubbling up again. He’s not sure which feeling wins out over the other when he snaps at her.

‘What are you doing here, Margaery?’ He bites down on the inside of his cheek while he goes back to his papers, distracting himself so he doesn’t have to watch her analyze him. He starts cramming things, without a care of their original organization, back into his desk. A futile distraction since he feels her eyes on him now. 

He can’t tell if the tone of his voice affects her, but he manages to catch her feet shuffling before she clears her throat. 

‘I came here because of your letter,’ she tells him gently.

He feels numb this time, and he stops fussing over the mess of his office. It becomes too easy to finally make all the tiny, hairline connections from the beginning of his day to her sudden appearance. Theon’s odd behaviour. Theon’s out-of-the-blue information on her whereabouts. The frequency in which he had been thinking of her today. If Theon knew about Margaery coming to Kingsland to see him, did he also know about his letter?

‘I—I didn’t—’ He can’t believe it, his eyes still trained to look away. 

‘Mean any of it?’

‘Of course, I did, but I also wrote it just after we broke up, nearly blackout—‘ he stops himself and amends his explanation. ‘Tired from four, consecutive midnight shifts at work—besides that, I never mailed that letter.’

‘Oh.’

He looks up in time to see her try to smooth out the lines of her frown, the crease between her brows flattens a moment too late from his confession. 

‘Look, I’m sorry if I gave you an impression of--’ Robb mentally scours for a reason for the letter as his humiliation grows, burning him from the inside out. ‘If I made you think that I still feel that way, I should tell you that I don’t. Not anymore. I’m sorry you had to travel from Stormsend to hear that. You didn’t have to do that—if you had called instead—’

‘Never mind, darling,’ she bristles suddenly, sitting in the seat opposite his desk. ‘Here.’

From her purse, she retrieves an envelope with its seams clearly cut open. He instantly recognizes his handwriting of Margaery’s address. She’s read the letter, it hits him, she’s really read it. But, she doesn’t brandish it before him to quote or mock him, like she could be tempted to. She simply hands it to him, her expression impassive. 

He finally sits too, accepting the letter. Hesitant as he says, ‘Erm...thanks.’

‘You should really be thanking Theon,’ she tells him matter-of-factly. ‘I can’t think of anyone more invested in your love life than him, can you? He must think of himself as a benevolent mastermind.’

Rubbing his eyelids, he groans as he agrees, ‘Of course, he mailed it to you, the idiot.’ 

‘I wouldn’t be too harsh on the man, he probably had good intentions. He probably thinks he got away with it too, maybe hoping we wouldn’t notice in the whirlwind of emotions we’d be feeling once we finally reunited.’ 

‘He’d probably invite us to dinner to celebrate him instead,’ he offers, rolling his eyes.

‘I’d let him feel important for a while, I’m sure that’ll stroke his ego, but you’d have to control yourself to not give us away,’ she says teasingly, and he doesn’t stop himself from impulsively agreeing with a nod and slight smile because he knows all too well how much fun she could be. ‘But, I’m sure we’ll get terribly bored of the charade. Somehow we’ll manage to make him too uncomfortable and fidgety from all the questions we’ll have for whatever new girl he’d string along that night.’ 

Margaery lights up to see him giving in, with his mouth twitching until he lets out an almost stifled rumble of laughter, one he didn’t realize would relieve him as much as it did. 

Robb relaxes some, his shoulders slumping from the tense posture he’d been keeping all along, and he finds himself giving in a bit more to her. He gives in to the way she’s attempting to lighten their moods through this incredibly uncomfortable situation. For a moment, he remembers how good it would feel to allow her to use her words in the most irresistible ways, turning phrases and making him laugh. For a moment, he could almost hear Margaery’s inner thoughts on how she might want to turn their conversation into talk about his family, and how she’d ask about his mum first. He wouldn’t be able to deny that his family misses her, both his mum and Sansa being her champions for so long. 

For a moment. 

It only takes a moment longer for him to acknowledge the reality of the situation once more. Their eyes, drawn as though toward a magnet, find Robb’s letter sitting on top of his desk. He feels the knots in his back forming again, and he tenses to think of Margaery pouring over his letter, worrying over his desperate, penned words. 

‘Well, it was good seeing you, Robb,’ Margaery breaks the silence between them, and she moves to stand up from her seat, her expression still unreadable. ‘I’m glad you’re doing so well. Yara tells me that after your own training, you got yourself a group of doctors to teach. Just like you always wanted. And I’m glad I got to see you before I leave tomorrow.’

‘You’re leaving,’ Robb repeats, and he hears the disbelief in his own voice, his calm disposition shifting as abruptly as her clear intention of leaving the conversation. 

‘Well, yes. I can’t say that I’m leaving with my dignity—’

‘Even after reading that _blasted_ letter, you’ve got nothing to say?’ His voice isn’t raised, but it’s perceptibly on edge. Though he feels slightly more than on edge. Teetering would be the word for where he’s headed.

‘What else is there to say,’ she starts, but continues as she clearly considers his expectant gaze, ‘I read your letter, and I felt the need to address it in person. So, I got on a train and came here, only to find that you don’t feel any of those feelings anymore. You’re right, I should’ve called.’

‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Typical.’

Margaery seems to take her turn to snap, finally, and asks, ‘I can’t think of what you want more: denying that this letter exists or somehow wanting to punish me for it existing.’

‘You’re the one who seems to always know what’s going on, why don’t you tell me what I’m thinking?’ 

‘You want me to apologize for what happened to us, for leaving you the way I did,’ she says all too quickly.

‘Well…’ Robb trails off because her words have cut straight through him, and he wonders why he’s still caught off guard by her knack of reading him so well.

‘I’m sorry,’ she seems to concede, but then adds, ‘I’m sorry that I was scared and maybe I was selfish too, but I’m not going to apologize for everything that happened to us. It takes two people to end a relationship.’

‘This letter clearly tells you that I didn’t want things to end,’ he says before he can stop himself, with the letter suddenly in a tight fist.

‘And yet it was never meant to be sent.’ 

Stalemate. Just as their very last argument ended, he recalls. This time, however, he manages to find defeat faster. 

‘I’m sorry, too,’ Robb admits wearily, and physically feels his body sigh and sag again. 

Just as she turns toward his doorway, he finally moves around his desk to meet her, dropping the letter as if to reach for her, but he stops short of grasping at her arm, his hands falling awkwardly to his sides. ‘It’s late, Marge. It’s nearly midnight, if you need a place—’

‘I’ve got a hotel room,’ she says, some of the fight in her is visibly distinguished. 

This close, he can see her eyes glazed over, denying her tears. The fight in him dies too, and, in its place, shame. Confusion. A return of all the things he felt when they used to argue. That and the impending sense of dread of her leaving tomorrow, leaving him with more questions than answers from her visit. 

There’s also the vivid memory of her leaving the first time...

‘Well, I mean to say that Sansa will be wanting to see you before you leave. She probably has a more comfortable living situation than the hotel room for tonight.’

‘I might take her up on that, thanks darling,’ she says, and, with that, she says her terse goodbye. 

Her heels clack on the hospital floor in her wake, while eyes follow her as she moves down the corridor, and he’s also left watching her until she disappears around the corner. 

When he dreamt up Margaery returning, he always imagined he’d have the right words to say. He’d apologize for his faults. He’d tell her to stay and talk awhile. The romantic in him, the one Theon constantly tells him to keep in check, would run to her now. 

It’s too late to think of following through on any of those scenarios while he stares down the empty corridor, except for one. The one mission he had set out to do when he left his flat earlier that night was to find and toss the letter he had written for her with the rest of his rubbish. It was meant to prove that he was finally moving on and that he could at least count on one more token of their past together to be put to rest. So, as he picks up the letter from where he had dropped it on the floor, still reeling over the fresh vision of her watery gaze as she said goodbye, broken up by staccatoed flashes of fury and the sounds of curses of their last falling out, he tries to focus on his mission. 

It takes a moment for him to think about it. To think of how there’d be one less thing to pull him back to memories of her. To think of how he could possibly call Jeyne back, and stop himself from drifting again. 

Just for a moment, he eyes the trash bin.

And the moment passes as he places the letter back in his desk drawer. 

_**tbc** _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 - Thanks for all the lovely comments! I'd love to hear more feedback for this latest chapter too =)
> 
> 2 - For songs: [my spotify playlist for this fic](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5HEZQPmJrtizQbM25EYOr8)
> 
> 3 - Aesthetics: [my tumblr](http://tinytendril.tumblr.com)

_I look at you and light it up_   
_You're a sight for sore eyes_

_Hesitate - Golden Vessel, Emerson Leif_

**MARGAERY**

Margaery knows what it looks like to be staying overnight at her ex-boyfriend’s sister’s flat, especially after making a big show of intending to leave on the first train back to Stormsend. She knows what it means for her to extend her stay in Kingsland. Robb would say that there isn’t a step she took in her life that wasn’t premeditated on some level. There’s also the fact that she hasn’t gotten Robb off her mind since seeing him last night. 

So, when she starts to think that the _thinking_ and the _knowing_ will not see an end, she is all too eager to table what it all means for now to enjoy the company of a long time friend. 

‘It’s freezing,’ Sansa says, pulling on the sleeves of her cardigan. 

Margaery glances at her reflection in the tall windows opposite the patio table of Sansa’s chosen brunch spot and watches the visible ebbing of heat surrounding them. She is thankful for Sansa picking a seat next to the outdoor heaters. But on a crisp November morning like this, Margaery is still regretting not swathing her blouse, pencil skirt, and heels with a sensible amount of layers. 

‘Well, at least we got a seat. It’s full up everywhere here.’ 

When Sansa starts to coo over Margaery’s new Manolo Blahnik pumps, Margaery cuts in, ‘Sansa, can we try not to be thrown out of this cafe, it’s bad enough that the waitress has moved us out into the cold. And as your friend, I should tell you that you have a problem.’ 

‘Who knew there was a three-strikes policy on nicking lemon cake samples.’ Sansa shrugs, and, though she openly glares at the waitress who had relegated them to their outdoor seating, a familiar glee returns and glimmers in her eyes.

Margaery knows that look and the feeling. She felt it once she called Sansa for a place to sleep last night. Stepping into her home, and into her arms, felt warm and familiar. 

Even now, as Margaery tries to scan over Sansa’s newest duties of sitting on the hospital’s fundraising committee and her end-of-year gala organizing, she feels nostalgia wash over her. She remembers a time when Sansa depended on Margaery’s problem-solving skills to get her out of smaller-scaled predicaments in uni. Frankly, the tedious task of balancing Sansa’s budget on Christmas decor and the open bar is a welcome distraction from her full roster of clients who have been emailing about her absence at her public relations firm. A firm in which she should be managing her client’s problems instead of...

‘This is a mess,’ Margaery deadpans, tapping repeatedly on Sansa’s IPad, and scrolling through various spreadsheets and documents. 

‘As is my life, but that’s why you’ve come home just in time to help me. Just work your magic, please. Oh, and if you want to throw in some invitations to the high profile celebrities you’re currently representing so we can really hype this party up, I wouldn’t mind.’

‘I’ve come just in time for your reasonable requests,’ Margaery corrects her. 

‘And since business is being taken care of, I’ve definitely run out of ideas to talk around the fact that you’re dating Renly Baratheon. The man is too good to be true. Has he really donated most of his family’s inheritance to—’

‘If you heard about him donating to Westerosi Children’s Aid or The Riverlands’ forest conservation organizations, we both thought it would benefit his image and the image of his new real estate company, considering all the negative press that seems to follow his family. He’s trying to step out of his big brother’s shadow, you see.’

‘You mean Robert ‘Sleazy Geezer’ Baratheon. Or Robert and Cersei. The bad news follows them better when they’re together. Brangelina, minus the charm and talent. Kimye, minus the glam, but keep the Botox and drama.’

‘Have you ever interacted with Cersei? I’ve only heard about her through Renly,’ Margaery’s curious to ask.

‘My lovely boss? Her royal highness? She’s been to a few of the meetings for organizing the end-of-year gala. And for each meeting, she’s called me Tanya. Last meeting, I corrected her. If she could move her face, I’m sure it would’ve shown how livid she probably was.’

Margaery can’t help but snort after her sip of coffee. ‘I’ve missed you, you know. There isn’t anyone in Stormsend that compares, really.’

‘Obviously, and that definitely saves me the trouble of threatening to post embarrassing pictures of you on my socials if you had replaced me.’ Sansa makes a face before continuing, ‘Though, now I feel terrible. What is there to _do_ there? I mean, other than visiting a non-GMO, fair-trade coffee roastery, getting into a Reiki-massage-juice-cleansing routine, starting a petition to preserve those historically xenophobic medieval walls around your city, or watching blokes fight over which rifle is bigger and better for the deer hunting season?’

Margaery could chat about her flourishing job, drop familiar, big names, tell her about the glitzy parties to see her reaction, and parry with Sansa’s take on her new lifestyle in Stormsend all day. She could make her friend laugh too, tell her about all the appalling choices of men she had to endure before settling with Renly. Then again, no, she couldn’t. Not really. Not when Sansa, naturally, reminds her of a life and a family she’d once called her own. 

Her thoughts swing back to Robb. That was always the reality of being Sansa Stark’s friend. Each Stark had their imprint on Margaery, and being back here and facing one of them meant facing a tethered connection with all of them. 

‘Marge,’ Sansa says, obviously sobered from a growing silence between them. 

Margaery recognizes Sansa’s habitual way of reeling in thoughts as she wrings at her wrists. She can tell that their friendly battle of words is about to shift to what they’ve both been leaving unsaid.

‘Thank you for not questioning me when I came to you last night,’ Margaery says carefully. ‘Even now, you’re trying your hardest to not make this awkward. But I owe you an explanation, so whatever you want to know…you can know.’

‘I just want to know that you’re okay,’ Sansa says kindly. ‘I know you didn’t just come back here to see me. Am I assuming right to think that you have some unfinished business?’

‘I received a letter from Robb that was never meant to be sent.’

Sansa’s hands are blanching white from her wringing them, and Margaery only mentally makes note of how odd that is before she continues, ‘Well, when I confronted him about it, he outright denied it means anything to him...not now, anyway. Besides that, your brother is furious with me, and he has every right to feel that way. And when I see you now, I can't deny that I left town without saying a proper goodbye. You should be furious too.’

‘No one, but you and Robb, knew what you two had to deal with at the time. We didn’t know what to think, but none of us are angry at you, Marge. Truly. Well, expect, Arya. But, she’s always angry,’ Sansa admits, but adds more gently, ‘I don’t think Robb can stay furious at you forever though, it’s just not in his nature, especially since it’s...well, you.’

Margaery once knew that. She remembers how Robb would come back after one of their rows with a genuine ask or offer of forgiveness, with the kind of tenderness that makes her fight the urge to allow herself to be lost in an overwhelming, looping reel of memories of him.

‘But,’ Sansa continues hesitantly, ‘Why did you come back? If you’re already with Renly—Does this mean—Do you still—’

‘You will regret doing this—Darlings, _stop_.’ A blonde, whose short, blunt hair matches the sharp edge in her voice, bursts from the cafe doors and nearly snarls at the same waitress serving Margaery and Sansa. Her change in tone seems to be directed at a squabbling set of young, twin children. ‘Darlings, really, your father said he had reservations for us, and I’m sure he didn’t lie. I know you’re hungry, don’t worry. I’m sure this _woman_ has it all wrong to be turning us away.’

The waitress winces, as do Margaery and Sansa who are in ear short, as the blonde persists, ‘Wouldn’t it be a shame if Mr. Baratheon has to speak to…’

The waitress gulps when she is addressed, before saying, ‘Blythe.’

‘It would be a shame if my husband had found out about this misunderstanding, Blythe.’

Sansa discreetly mouths what Margaery had almost discerned of the identity of the irate woman, _Cersei Baratheon_.

‘Over here, Mrs. Baratheon!’ Sansa startles everyone nearby with her outburst, her hand even shoots up as if she were being role called at primary school. 

Margaery taps on her shoulder to drop it and sees that Sansa is pointing to the empty chairs next to them—exactly three. 

‘Yes,’ Margaery agrees, smiling tightly, still trying to work out Sansa’s motives and the coincidental appearance of the woman they had just been talking about. ‘There’s enough seats.’

As Cersei reluctantly ushers her children to sit down at their table, her purse-lipped scowl clearly shows how upset she is about not unleashing a tirade on the nervous server, but she seems to relax after her children slip into a kind of quiet stupor from busying themselves with their individual iPads. 

It does not escape Margaery that this happenstance seems to delay answering Sansa’s line of questioning about Robb, and it certainly distracts her from most of her thoughts of him as well. 

‘Margaery Tyrell,’ Cersei says this with a kind of saccharine sweetness that would fool anyone into ease. ‘Renly does love to show you off when there’s a photo opportunity. You’re all over his social media. At this point, I wouldn’t miss you in a crowd.’

Margaery knows the kind of tone she’s taking, and she doesn’t hesitate to reply, ‘It’s a pleasure meeting you. I have to say, leading as a CEO and your work with Sansa’s maternity unit at the hospital is inspiring. And I can see what really motivates you to do that kind of important work with these two angels at your side.’

Tomnen and Myrcella, Margaery comes to know the twins’ names when they pop their heads up from their tablet screens to tell her, and she suspects their sudden shift in attention comes from how perplexed they are by her compliment. Even Sansa tries to cover up her surprise when she slurps up too much of her brunch mimosa. 

Cersei’s eyes do not narrow, but there is a tell-tale twitch around her eyes that Margaery catches. ‘And Robert has mentioned about your hand in shaping his brother’s success down south. How is it that you’re not working here, the capital, the hub for all the most important minds of our time? What does Stormsend have that Kingsland doesn’t? Don’t tell me it’s Robert’s little brother.’

Margaery can’t help but pause before biting into her chocolate croissant. 

Cersei, clearly triumphing over finding Margaery’s pressure point, somehow manages to sound completely disingenuous when she compliments, ‘Renly is truly a lucky man.’

Margaery knows she looks impenetrable as a practiced smile spreads over her lips, but she’s sure her resolve is wearing. Her thoughts, back on Robb, blame him for making her on edge today. 

‘A massive white poinsettia arch!’ Sansa reminds them of her presence with another abrupt outburst. ‘I mean, people would want pictures in front of it, and it’s both a perfect backdrop and a focal point of the Winter Wonderland theme.’

Margaery feels both herself and Cersei are pulled from a kind of sparring match, and she eyes her friend’s coded expression. Ah, yes, the end-of-year party planning. Sansa is diffusing the tension.

‘The Christmas staff do,’ Cersei drawls, finally acknowledging Sansa. 

‘I’m so honoured to be part of the tradition you started so many years ago,’ Sansa gushes. ‘Ticket sales are definitely going to exceed your expectations, I’m sure of it. I suspect we can start looking at where to allocate funding for each department from this single event. Margaery, the arch, please. Add it to the budget.’ Sansa gestures to Margaery to type out this information on her tablet. 

Margaery taps at Sansa’s tablet while she feels Cersei’s gaze on her. Even as the older woman chit chats about the party’s menu and special performances planned for the staff party with Sansa, Margaery’s sure she’s still being observed.

‘Are you on some sort of holiday, Margaery?’ Cersei wonders. 

‘No, I’m actually leaving tomorrow,’ Margaery says, putting the tablet back down to look up again. 

‘Oh, that’s too bad,’ Cersei says, seemingly sounding genuine in her sentiments for the first time since sitting down with them.

It’s not until Sansa excuses herself to the restroom that Margaery starts to understand Cersei’s dejected reply. 

‘Look at the pair of us,’ Cersei starts as soon as Sansa leaves. ‘Women of incredible intellect and position, and yet we’ve involved ourselves with the wrong men.’

Margaery has to take a moment to reply, her eyes darting to check on her children. They are oblivious and now completely absorbed by their online gaming, stalk still except for their twitching fingertips. It makes her think that this sort of talk is something they’re used to.

‘I’m not sure—’ Margaery starts, frowning, feeling her cheeks burn.

‘I have a job for you, and before you tell me that you have more pressing matters back home, I certainly want you to think of Renly. I certainly want you to know that _I know_ he thinks of us as walking, talking publicity disasters. It’s true,’ Cersei says in a strikingly unbothered tone. She then directs her children to do another task that seems to come naturally to them as they each pull out a set of headphones from their rucksacks, which they swiftly hook up to their tablets and then muffle their ears. 

‘I don’t know what you think I can do for you, Cersei.’ Margaery really strains to school her features now, and even tries to will the beating of her heart to slow down. 

‘My current separation and future divorce to Robert will turn ugly. There will be custody fights, things about our family life exposed, an enormous amount of media pressure on both of us and on her professional lives. I don’t trust him to be kind,’ Cersei looks begrudged to admit. ‘I can see how this might affect Renly and how people perceive our family. Renly may not be your first choice, and, to be fair, he may not be any woman’s first choice if Robert’s insinuations are correct about his brother’s dating life before you. Yet, I wonder if you care enough about him to hear me out...You are the only person who seems competent enough to guide me through this process that I’ll have to endure publicly.’

Margaery can’t deny that the compliment intrigues her, even as she tries to fight conceding to Cersei’s knowledge of Renly’s mostly unknown dating life. Despite this, she gathers, ‘You need me as your publicist.’

Cersei nose wrinkles to say, ‘I need to appear sympathetic. It’s something I’m told I have trouble conjuring up.’

Margaery wants to smirk in spite of her flushing cheeks and racing heartbeat, to add something quippy, but then she notices the way Cersei looks at her children. It’s a look that, once again, Margaery can tell is as rare and honest as her confessing so much of her family life. Cersei clearly cares about one outcome from Margaery’s help and ultimately the results of the divorce—her children by her side. 

‘I‘ll stay,’ Margaery agrees to help Cersei, and she even allows the inevitable imagination of Robb’s reaction of her returning back into his life.

‘What did I miss?’ Sansa returns to her seat, bright-eyed and probably curious as to why Cersei finally cracks a smile.

* * *

Robb doesn’t pay her a visit when she arrives at the hospital for her first day of work at Cersei’s request. In fact, he doesn’t come to see her in the following days either, even though some of his colleagues, their old friends, have mentioned that they’ve heard of her return and greeted her themselves. Even Sansa and Theon (who profusely apologizes for his meddling, which she was not entirely surprised he would confess to) come to see her on their breaks while they find time to lounge and catch up in the office Cersei gave her to work in, sometimes mentioning Robb in passing. Oftentimes, they stare too long after doing so.

So, she knows that Robb knows she’s still in Kingsland, and yet he hasn’t come. She expected this, she rationalizes, and it makes sense since their last encounter was less than a warm welcome. She also reasons that it’s not as though she’s making an effort to seek him out. 

But since reading Robb’s letter, she’s had the urge to seek him out. She admits the letter still has a hold on her. She admits that it definitely spurred on an imagined reunion, one where she wasn’t being let down by his rejection of any longing for her. The letter was full of longing…

She also admits if Sansa were here to question why she came back to Kingsland once again, if there was a question of longing on her side, she’d say that Robb had it right when he wrote about her needing to come back home. He wasn’t just speaking about his needs. She was reminded of _their_ home. It’s what brought her on the train platform to travel across the country that day.

  
 _Not anymore_ , she remembers his words, and she tries to ignore the stinging in the middle of her chest as a knock on her door and a pair of muffled voices behind it signals that she has visitors.

Renly thinks it’s a good idea to keep company. He tells her that it’ll take time to get accustomed to this new situation. Ever supportive, he had called her everyday since she left, and, by the fourth day, he had even offered to visit her by the weekend.

‘You told Renly to stay home, right?’ Theon asks, looking expectant.

Sansa nudges him hard, and Margaery regrets telling Theon all about Renly’s offer. So, as to not encourage him, she simply ignores his question.

‘What?’ Theon mocks a wounded look to Sansa, but quickly recovers with a cocky smile spreading over his lips to tease her, ‘Don’t tell me you’re not curious to see what your best friend does in the next couple of days to dear Robb without her bloody boyfriend ruining things.’ 

‘You’re done meddling, Theon, remember?’ Margaery warns him. ‘However your plan was supposed to go, to help Robb, it’s clear that we’re both not going to budge. He’s moving on, and I’m here temporarily.’

‘I didn’t even have to try, love. When I failed, the universe threw you Cersei, and now you’re here for another month. Mad, innit?’

Margaery rolls her eyes and, by the fifth and consecutive day that Sansa and Theon have visited her, while recalling the fact that she’s known Theon as long as she’s known the Starks, she can honestly say that she’s still not grown accustomed to his ignorance of boundaries.

‘You’re very lucky that my temper rarely flares up compared to Robb’s,’ Margaery tries another warning tone, but knows she’s never brought herself to ever truly be upset with Theon. So, she doesn’t say anything further. 

Truthfully, with her current situation, she could try to find the humour or an angle to see what Theon finds so funny. She could laugh at another impulsive, Theon-esqe stunt with its ensuing problems, like she’s done in the past, but she’d rather not do so at her own expense. 

The problem is that Theon had always been one for provocation because it’s all part of his charm...or so she’s been told. Or how it’s now evident through Sansa’s eyes lighting up at the other off-colour jokes he cracks. These jokes move on to a funny story about a crotchety doctor they’ve all encountered, including an uncanny impersonation, and it’s clear that the other problem is that she allows herself to laugh along with Sansa. At least, she thinks, she can count on laughing feeling better than sobbing in some corner. 

‘You know, Robb forgave me pretty quickly after I admitted mailing that letter.’ Theon can’t seem to help but pick up where Margaery left off. He frowns and adds, ‘I mean, there were words said. Had no idea there were so many creative ways to call someone a dickhead. And he did have a massive paperweight in his hand that I swear he could’ve chucked at my head. But then...nothing, and he sent me on my way. I’m not being funny, but I think he’s genuinely trying too hard to seem nonchalant about all of this. I thought for sure he’d find a way for me to be sacked from work or worse.’

‘You're right, I thought Robb would’ve killed you by now,’ Sansa agrees. 

Margaery notices how they start their sympathetic staring for the fifth day in a row, making a big show of tapping at her watch.

‘It’s also true that I have a meeting to get to with—’

‘The queen herself,’ Theon refers to Cerseri as Sansa simpers at his side. The pair of them see their cue to leave and start to get up at Margaery’s pointed glare.

‘Theon!’ Margaery calls him away from Sansa, and once again ignores the stinging in her chest when she asks, ‘You didn’t think you’d get away with it that easily, did you? I’m going to remind you of your mistake every day until you get that you’re trekking on very thin ice with both of us. I mean,’—the stinging grows with the question she had been waiting to ask for some time now—‘didn’t you know he would react this way?’

Theon’s eyes flit toward Sansa shrinking down the corridor before he locks eyes with Margaery. ‘I thought...he was gutted for so long, Marge...I just thought maybe you would turn him around.’

‘It’s more complicated than that, isn’t it?’ She sighs. ‘You can’t just throw people in a room and hope that they find a solution within a night.’

‘Thought you’d shag toward a solution, actually.’ His guffawing trails off at her silence.

‘Yes, it is complicated, but it shouldn’t be,’ Theon says firmly, his humourous tone is gone as he carries on, ‘If you care about someone, properly care about someone, you shouldn’t let it be.’

Margaery thinks to say something just then, watching Theon’s eyes shifting to where Sansa had vanished around the corner. However, she only replies, ‘Just promise me that you and Sansa won’t keep pursuing this plan of yours. This _parent trap_ of sorts.’

‘Sansa’s not—we’re not—I’m shocked—I’m gobsmacked—I’m—’ Theon can’t stop stammering.

She ends their conversation here, ‘Just promise.’

‘You...have my word.’

She hurries him along at that, shooing him out of her office, and breathes a little lighter when he leaves, knowing she’s nearly finished her workweek without the Robb-sized elephant in the room trying to distract her from it.

* * *

It takes Margaery witnessing a sleep-deprived, nearly incontinent PA for Cersei to fully realize her newest position. Making Cersei appear sympathetic to the general public would be her Magnum Opus, her crowning achievement next to becoming the youngest publicist at her firm. 

‘Please, Ms. Tyrell, please just keep her schedule moving along for 5 minutes. I’ll be about ready to burst if I don’t find the loo in the next minute.’ Cersei’s overworked assistant almost weeps in pleading. 

‘Sam,’ Margaery winks, taking his dog-eared notes and clipboard. ‘Take 10.’

Sam Tarly, also new at his job and completely terrified of the CEO, thanks her profusely over his shoulder as he hobbles his way down the corridor to find the restrooms. 

‘Don’t mention it,’ Margaery shouts back, without losing track of all the moving parts of her current PR event for Cersei. 

By the second week of her new job, Margaery rationalizes that if she’s working on improving Cersei’s public image, she can spend less time worrying over her own. No matter how much her ego is smarting at the moment. No matter how much it irks her to notice Theon and Sansa continuing to give her their _looks_ whenever they visit her. But as if Theon’s joke of the Powers That Be targeting her is once again realized, she suddenly spots Robb in the mix of people she had gathered in the closed off area of the hospital lobby. 

To improve Cersei’s image, Margaery had assembled a group of the hospital’s most popular, successful employees for a photoshoot. Her campaign was simple: take photographs of each employee to commemorate their work and contributions to the hospital and take a picture of Cersei congratulating them. There would be life-size posters and billboards around the hospital campus, including an online campaign, to further bolster Cersei’s sympathetic image.

When Robb steps into the fold of other employees allowing photographers and make-up artists to position him into a range of different poses, adjusting his hair, she almost forgets herself. She almost forgets that Cersei’s assistant isn’t around to give her her morning shot of espresso. 

‘Margaery,’ Cersei calls, her irritation from the lack of caffeine is palpable by her hissing near Margaery’s ear. ‘When will this be over with? I’ve got that meeting with Robert and his lawyers after lunch, don’t I?’

‘Just one more portrait,’ Margaery tries her best to keep eye contact with Cersei once she notices Robb finally spotting them. She has an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach as she goes down the list on Sam’s clipboard until she reaches the last name on the schedule, and she takes in a sharp inhale. How could she miss ...‘Robb Stark. He’s been voted for several times over when I sent out that memo for nominations of exemplary employees.’

Cersei doesn’t miss a thing, however, and cuts her biting tone in half to jeer, ‘You mean, Robb Stark... your ex.’

Margaery knows her silence is telling, so she lets Cersei continue.

‘I knew Renly couldn’t have been the reason you left Kingsland. And I had an inkling about your ties to Sansa Stark.’ Cersei can’t seem to contain herself while she says, ‘I’m desperately trying not to make this as awkward as possible for you. Can you tell?’

Margaery grumbles, ‘No, I can’t tell if I’m doing a good job on you or not.’

Cersei, to her credit, simply walks over to Robb to prepare for her last photograph of the day without an incident, not even looking back Margaery’s way…

‘ _Margaery_!’ Cersei calls, gesturing to her to come closer. 

Robb repeatedly crosses his arms and uncrosses them, as if he’s unsure of what to do with his stance, taking his focus away from the photographers to give Margary a fleeting glance when she approaches them. 

‘Where is that assistant of mine?’ Cersei sighs, exasperated. ‘Besides that, these makeup artists are making me look like a painted clown. And he’s wearing his scrubs to this photoshoot.’

‘I'm sorry I didn’t get the memo about the dress code. I thought we were supposed to be wearing our work clothes so I came down after my midnight shift,’ Robb explains himself, sheepishly. 

Margaery eyes Robb closely since Cersei prompts her to, and she hopes it excuses her lingering gaze. The last time she had seen him was under the dark gloom of his office, and his upper body wasn’t as visible under a structured dress shirt. He looks healthy, stronger with his arms looking much more sizable than she remembers under the short sleeves of his scrub shirt.

If he notices her staring, he doesn’t seem bothered. He clears his throat to offer, ‘If you want me to be excluded from the shoot, it’s fine.’

‘Nonsense,’ Cersei says slowly after a long inhale and even longer exhale, appearing to be practising Margaery’s tips on breathing and patience. ‘We can—you there!’ 

Cersei calls to the group of stylists nearby. ‘Give me your shirt, we’ll do a close up rather than a full portrait,’ she tells one of the male make-up artists.

Robb realizes that Cersei suggests that he change in front of them and starts to protest. ‘Look, I’m genuinely flattered by your noticing my work at this hospital, but I can’t—’

‘ _Nonsense_ ,’ Cersei repeats, and, this time, grits her teeth with a smile too strained to be genuine.

Robb looks conflicted, while Margaery shrugs.

‘And where is my assistant? He could be the one helping this man. I’m going to be late for that appointment, Margaery.’ Cersei’s patience is wearing thin, Margaery can tell from her erratically breathing in and out of flaring nostrils. 

‘Cersei…’ Margaery starts, keeping her voice even and calm.

‘I’ll do it,’ Robb gives in and gestures for the make-up artist to follow suit. 

And Margaery can’t stop staring now that he sheds his top, revealing taut muscles under his thin undershirt. Unluckily, Robb does seem to lock eyes with her this time, and even more unlucky is seeing Cersei giving her her own knowing look about it. 

‘Here,’ Margaery exasperates, reaching for him around the collar of the dress shirt he exchanges for his uniform, smoothing out its wrinkles. She wants this shoot to move along quickly, she tells herself as she skillfully loops a tie around his collar because he’s always had trouble neatly doing the knots himself. She even has a thought to run her fingers through his russet red curls to fix a few wayward strands, but, before she can decide against it, he does it himself.

Robb has the decency to look as uncomfortable as she feels, clearing his throat a few times too many before telling her, ‘You didn’t have to—well, thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Margaery doesn’t think she regrets this closeness, but she can’t say it’s helping her cause in maintaining a cool exterior. Nor is it helping that his clear, blue eyes still pull her in so easily. 

‘You seem to be juggling a few jobs again. Between your life in Stormsend and here, it seems like you’ve really outdone yourself this time,’ he says, and he doesn’t sound indignant, but she can tell he’s drawing from an unpleasant memory. 

‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ 

‘Of course,’ he chuckles, but there is no warmth in the way that he does so. He even seems to struggle to add, ‘And here I am, _again_ , in your way of getting things done properly.’

If she had doubts about his feelings toward her before, she has a moment to question those doubts now. Could he be asking her to feel something? Could he be concerned enough about her feelings toward him? Could his heart be racing as fiercely as hers?

‘Robb—’

The flashing bulbs from the cameras are what tears her away from a moment she didn’t know was being drawn out by their conversation, and her hands release him to slide back to her sides. That and Cersei exchanging positions with her finally shakes her free of Robb’s last words. Enough so that she spots two onlookers in her peripheral vision. 

Theon and Sansa are watching them in the distance, and she feels foolish for not spotting them sooner.

When Robb finally tears his own focus from her, engaging in a handshake with Cersei for the cameras, Margaery can focus too. 

‘You two,’ she calls before she reaches them, and can’t even enjoy their comically alarmed faces. 

‘Shit!’ Theon rushes away, jogging up a nearby escalator for a quick exit. 

‘Stay, Sansa!’ Margaery demands of her friend to stop escaping too.

With the photoshoot and Robb’s intense gaze behind her, she can’t rein in any more restraint for today. She grips Sansa’s arm as they move away from the lobby, and, once they’re far enough to raise her voice, she lets it out.

‘And don’t you dare lie to me,’ Margaery warms her, raising a finger to her. She is tempted to jab at her with said finger too. ‘You and Theon have been plotting since I got that letter, and are still meddling when I specifically asked him to stop. I know it, so just—out with it.’

Sansa’s fiery red hair starts to match her flushing face when she concedes, ‘It’s true, Theon asked me to help once I found out that he had sent that letter to you. I almost didn’t want to play along the first night you slept over my place. But, after you decided to stay, I knew some part of you wanted this to happen too.’

‘That’s—I didn’t do it for—wait, I’m supposed to be accusing _you_ right now.’ Margaery shakes her head. ‘My life isn’t some game for you and Theon to play matchmaker with. There are real consequences here, real feelings involved. You’re supposed to be my friend—’

‘I wasn’t the one that left my whole life behind without warning, without a single phone call.’ Sansa’s flushed cheeks are more apparent than ever, especially as she sternly continues, ‘It’s true, I don’t have any business trying to get you two back together again, even if it’s obvious that you’re both still mad about each other.’—Sansa preemptively quiets her with a single, raised hand—‘What I shouldn’t be doing is helping you as if you skipping town without telling me wasn’t a massive deal. I lied to spare your feelings. I _was_ upset at you for leaving. For a while. And don’t tell me that you tried to reconnect. Random text messages and sporadic emails don’t cut it. So, don’t _you_ dare tell me what kind of friend I should be. If it wasn’t about my brother, if it was just you and me, if it was just us at uni in our dorms talking about every nonsensical topic under the sun, I’d want to make you laugh or cheer you on. I’d want what’s best for you. I still do because I _am_ your friend, Marge.’

Of course, Sansa would have a right to be angry all this time. Even if she has forgiven her some time ago, it’s only fair that she’s not forgotten. Thankfully, Sansa’s reddened cheeks and defensive stance slowly start to relax.

Margaery chews at her bottom lip. ‘I know,’ she sighs heavily, and, ashamed, she agrees, ‘I know, darling. With all this grief you two are causing, with me admitting how absolutely miserable I’m being, could we be even?’

Sansa pulls her in, hugging her close for an answer, ‘That was a terrible apology.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Margaery relents, groaning over Sansa’s shoulder. 

Sansa’s embrace is tight, and she smooths out tangles from Margaery’s wavy locks as they slightly sway. Sorries continue to murmur from Margaery’s lips as if she’s profusely pleading Sansa to accept her. 

After some time, Sansa shushes her. 

‘Yes, Theon sent the letter. Yes, we did not just luckily bump into Cersei, and yes I knew that she’d sacked her last executive assistant—Theon’s last fling—who was helping her with your current job. And yes, I knew she’d somehow prove herself useful in dragging you into her messy marriage and her even messier public image. But, whatever feelings you think are involved between you and Robb aren’t by our doing.’

Margaery holds on to her friend still, contemplating this. ‘If I admit that you could be right about me and Robb, could you do me a favour and accept my advice?’

Sansa moves out of their embrace, curiously waiting.

‘I think it’s good that you and Theon have been spending more time together. If I had come back to see you with Ramsay or Harry again, I think I’d have a lot more to say about your love life than mine. But, you should figure out how you feel about Theon.’

Sansa exchanges her curious look with one of confusion. ‘What?’

‘Well, it’s obvious that he’s in love with you. I mean, I've always suspected something about Theon even before I left, but you seem to be completely oblivious about it, or maybe both of you are purposely being thick about each other,’ Margaery clarifies.

‘What?’

‘Come off it.’

‘No, _you_ come off it.’

If there’s anything that sets her apart at her firm, Margaery would credit her singular intuition. It’s what’s gotten her so far ahead, it’s what’s made her business so successful. True, she’s dispensing this talent into her job with Cersei to distract her from her current troubles, but she can see now that she's also distracted herself from a friend in need. 

‘How many girls has he been with since he recruited you to help him? And we all know how prolific his dating life was before this…’ Margaery waits for Sansa to start making inferences.

‘Well, I’m not sure, we don’t talk about that.’

‘But you have been seeing each other a lot these days, calling each other, having lunch dates on your own, texting each other about me and Robb, and apparently about our whereabouts. This is more than just a matchmaking scheme for him. Tell me, do you really not know if he’s seeing anyone?’

Sansa’s eyes are flitting every which way now, avoiding Margaery’s. 

‘You should see the way he looks at you. And the way you look at him back…’

Sansa appears to want to find a fault in this, point something out, but she’s rendered quiet instead. 

Margaery’s cell phone interrupts Sansa’s silent shock, and she apologizes before leaving her, ‘I’ll call you later, I promise. Cersei’s about to explode and I’m genuinely afraid for her assistant’s life.’

She doesn’t turn back, but she imagines Sansa standing on her own, still processing Margaery’s bombshell of a revelation.

_**tbc** _


	3. Chapter 3

_We missed our potential  
_ _I'm emotional_

_Potential - Kllo_

**SANSA**

Theon Greyjoy categorically does not want her. 

It’s Theon _fucking_ Greyjoy. He’s known her almost half her life. He’s her brother’s best friend. It’s true that she had a childhood crush on him when boys her own age still resorted to pulling at pigtails and had no idea how to speak to the opposite sex, while he would throw reckless winks her way, regardless of Robb’s physical threats. But it’s not possible. It would be too much of a stretch, and too much of a cliche for him to suddenly realize that he was in love with her all this time. 

_Hang on now_ , she takes a mental breath. _If_ it was true, _if_ Theon was in love with her, _if_ love was the right word, how long had he known this? That’s the real question on her mind. And just like that, Margaery’s observations have wormed their way into her thoughts.

Sansa physically shakes herself before she allows what she thinks is a shiver to run down her spine. If it was one elicited by pleasure or distaste, she wills herself not to decide. Instead, she takes her usual order at the polish deli shop by the hospital car park and waits for her blueberry perogies and coffee before her afternoon shift starts. At least, these moments on her own are truly uninterrupted. 

‘There you are!’ The shiver returns as she hears Theon calling from behind her as if she had conjured him up from her thoughts alone.

Sansa nearly whips her head around to find him at her side, standing there looking as though _he knows_ he looks dashing. He _must_ know that his carefree, rakish looks suit him. His hair is tawny and long enough to tuck behind his ears, with a fringe that sits above his brows. It's longer than he's ever had it before, and she recalls seeing a new respiratory technician on her floor playfully pull at the ends of his hair before he came to pick her up for lunch last week. And she can admit that his blue eyes glinting in the sunlight are his best feature, especially when he’s smiling. That smile is what gets most people, daring anyone to ask what joke he's hiding behind it. Most of the time, his humour offends as much as it entertains.

  
Not for the first time, she imagines how most women find him—attractive and intractable all at once. He gets away with it too since she’s heard a few nurses on her floor talking about a cocky surgeon who is worth the trouble in bed. Except she knows better because they don’t know about the Theon before uni. They're not aware of the Theon before secondary school, the same Theon that nearly got eaten alive by midges from a childhood dare to run completely starkers around her family’s back garden. _Except_ she shouldn’t be fixated on him at all, not since she’s been paranoid about Margaery’s accusations of her staring after him. 

Theon looks bewildered as if he’s fully aware and concerned for this staring problem, ‘Y’arite, Sansa? You look like—’

‘I’ve seen a ghost? Worse, that mop on your head needs a trim.’

She takes her food order and gestures for him to move further away from the deli shop with her.

‘Bit early for that,’ Theon says, pretending to nurse a wounded chest. ‘You’ve been well proud of yourself this past week, ey? No hesitation on the jabs about me, bossing me around, and somehow convincing Margaery to stay. You’re a wonder, Stark.’

She doesn’t know what possesses her, but she equates what she says as word vomit, ‘ _Youcantsaythingslikethataroundpeople_.’

‘Say that again, but properly this time.’ Theon smirks, much to her annoyance.

‘Theon, Margaery is under the impression that we—that you and I—’ Sansa stops short of saying the words, feeling her entire body heating up at an alarming rate.

Theon hasn’t a clue, his smirking only growing in her turmoil as if she were part of his secret joke now. 

‘Theon…’ She clears her throat. ‘We have to prove to Margaery that we’re not having some bloody affair behind everyone’s back, that we’re helping my brother and Margaery and that’s all there is to the story. I think we’ve been spending too much time together or, at least, it’s starting to look suspicious.’

‘A-affair?’ Theon looks as though he’s dumbstruck.

‘We apparently have feelings for each other,’ Sansa explains further, while her body seems to transcend the heat. She feels her head floating as she continues, ‘It’s obviously—’

‘Obviously…’ He draws out. She can’t be sure, but Theon seems to pause to think about it or he could be waiting on her.

‘Obviously... not—’

‘Not true. Right,’ Theon finishes for her, though he doesn’t look at Sansa then. Instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets, and suddenly appears fascinated by nearby lurching cars moving about in the car park. 

Sansa feels herself deflate. If it’s out of relief or regret, she’s not sure, too concerned with her rapidly beating pulse to analyze it just yet. ‘Theon, please say something.’ 

‘Well, you don’t have to worry about anything. We’re just friends. Margaery’s just trying to project her own issues on us,’ Theon reasons out, the lightness in his voice from when he first approached her has perceptively diminished.

Sansa didn’t know what to expect. Sure, if Theon admitted what Margaery suspected of him, it would explain why they’ve grown closer over the past several weeks, closer than they’ve ever been. It would explain why she hasn’t kept in contact with any of her exes (nasty habit, that). Besides that, she lied to Margaery again. She knew Theon hadn’t been seeing anyone recently, and that could have further explained if something was going on between them.

‘Imagine your brother finding out if there was something between us. I’d be a marked man,’ he laughs. ‘I might be one already because of the whole Margaery thing. Point is, there are a million reasons why we wouldn’t work.’

There it is. She takes in his words, almost too stunned to say, ‘A _million_.’

Theon, with his mouth in a thin line, nods. He looks stiff and altogether uncomfortable.

‘Right.’ Sansa nods back. She finds her words coming out before she can think against them, ‘Then we need to set out some boundaries so Margaery and my brother don’t get the wrong idea about us. Even if Margaery’s wrong about us, it doesn't mean it’s not a good idea to take this as a warning.’

‘What did you have in mind? A set of rules, like don’t fall in love on the job?’ Theon tries humorously, but sobers at whatever look she’s wearing.

‘Exactly. You asked me to help you cheer up my brother. That was it. We can’t complicate things by ruining our friendship on top of that.’

‘So…’

Sansa gestures him to follow along again, and denies him helping her carry her belongings toward the hospital.

‘I’ll make a list.’

Theon seems to take a misstep as he follows her, and, as he stumbles to her side, he offers, ‘Let me at least help with this ruddy list.’

* * *

> <Notes 26 November 2020 at 17:30
> 
> _Theon and Sansa will not be caught ‘helping’ Robb and Margaery in public areas of the hospital or in public in general._
> 
> _If Theon and Sansa are to be seen together, it will be in a group of friends or family._
> 
> _If Theon and Sansa are to be seen together, alone, it will be stated explicitly that they are friends._
> 
> _Theon and Sana will meet to ‘help’ Robb and Margaery for a minimum of once a week and a maximum of twice a week._

  
  


* * *

Sansa knows she has absorbed the bare minimum at her after-work meeting. 

Something about the end-of-year gala budget being graciously extended by Cersei. Something about Cersei’s eldest son, someone who looks no older than Sansa’s own age, being in attendance and making eyes at her the entire meeting. She thinks she heard Cersei introduce him as Joffrey. Something about his leering making her physically ill. Something about Margaery nudging her to pay attention during someone else’s presentation during the meeting.

‘What are you doing here, Stark?’

Sansa takes a moment to get her bearings straight. She isn’t in the meeting anymore, but outside of the hospital’s second-floor board room. Theon is at her side, trying to get her attention. 

‘Theon, what are _you_ doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be meeting me at the cafeteria?’

‘Saw Robb there. I was thinking about your list of rules, particularly the one that makes sure your brother doesn’t have the wrong idea about us by spending too much time together, so I decided against waiting for you to show up. Aren’t you supposed to be meeting _me_ at the cafeteria?’

‘I got distracted,’ Sansa lies and doesn’t tell him that Margaery had been making her observations about their relationship again, making her uncomfortable. She was certainly standing him up from this unbidden feeling.

Margaery, talking to Cersei and Cersei’s son in the distance, makes eye contact with her. The uncomfortable heat she felt at her favourite perogy shop, where she confronted Theon days ago, starts creeping from the back of her neck and starts to rise. 

‘So, these rules are driving me mad. I was talking to your brother, sitting across from him with your paranoid thoughts in my head, and he thought I was acting odd and not myself. I mean, how can restricting how we act around each other be helpful? How can we even help Robb and Margaery if we can’t even be in the same room without worrying about what other people think? Sansa, are you even listening?’

To be fair, she was hardly trying to listen since she was focusing on what she expected would be an interruption to Theon’s rambling. 

‘Sansa,’ Joffrey cuts into their conversation, accompanied by a lopsided grin spreading over his mouth when he approaches her. ‘Great presentation. My mother had been talking me into attending your Christmas staff do for some time now. I suppose Margaery thinks it’ll be good to have all her children at a family event with her. Mother always did need help…socially.’

‘Oh, right,’ Sansa nods, wondering if his tone sounds harmlessly amused or sarcastic instead. However, how else could one interpret a remark like that?

‘Anyways, I’m so glad I caught you before I left. I’ll be arriving late to the party. Father has me training with the barristers at his office for the afternoon, so I’m not sure how long that’ll take, but I do expect that you’ll try to get me up to speed with the festivities when I arrive.’

‘I—’ Sansa doesn’t get to finish.

‘Perfect,’ he exclaims, and even reaches over to shake her hand. ‘Lovely to meet you today, Sansa.’

It’s only after Joffrey leaves with Margaery and Cersei that Theon tries on another uncanny impersonation, ‘Lovely to meet you, Sansa. By the way, the barrister’s office, you know the one I work at, it’s my father’s and I’m obviously trying to graft you by mentioning that. I can’t wait to see you at the party to tell you all about the barrister’s office that I’m obviously going to bring up a few more times to make sure you know that I’m well minted.’

‘Dickhead,’ Sansa grumbles at Theon, and crosses her arms. 

Theon’s smirk rivals Joffrey’s at this point.

‘Is that all?’ Sansa sighs.

‘I could go on, I’m sure of it.’

‘Theon, can you leave it?’

‘For now.’

Theon could very well be right about Joffrey, she realizes, but that doesn’t mean he has to be so smug about it. So, it crosses her mind to challenge him. 

‘Does it bother you?’ Sansa asks him, screwing up her features to appear serious. It also crosses her mind that she’s not exactly trying too hard to be genuinely curious. 

Theon clears his throat then, and allows a beat to pass before replying, ‘Date away. We’re just friends.’

Sansa’s rising, heated flush finally reaches her cheeks. ‘Exactly. So, why don’t we take this as an opportunity? I’ll find Joffrey to keep him occupied and happy so that Cersei is happy. This will allow Margaery to be less tense at the party, and if you try to push Robb in the right direction, they could try to reconnect with all the time Margaery has freed up from Cersei.’

Theon looks as though he’s about to argue, but watching his internal cogs work out her plan for some time shows that it’s not a terrible idea.

‘How do you know that Robb will even show up, especially since Margaery will be there?’

‘Leave it to me.’

* * *

Robb comes out from hiding, Sansa observes without trying to look too pleased. 

He’s found his way to her nurse’s station, and he’s not only trying to accost people to speak to him, but he’s also obviously trying to make the best out of his visit by making himself comfortable in the comfy office chair that everyone vies for. It had been so long since she’s seen him so eager to socialize, and it’s been even more unlikely to find him out and about in the hospital since Margaery’s arrival. 

When he spots her approaching, she tries to school her features. 

‘I have some information. I don’t gossip. I’m just reporting what I saw at work, professional to professional,’ Robb starts as if he’s doing his sister a favour, and hunches over in his seat as he lowers his voice. ‘Now, I’m not just trying to spread this...news, but—’

‘Fine, please do shut up and share,’ Sansa teases, leaning over the station’s counter to hear him more clearly. 

‘As I was leaving for work last night, I saw something odd, but I was in a rush so I just caught the end bit. See, I was trying to make it in time to reserve a good spot in the weight room at my gym. It gets so busy when you don’t make it before the 9 o’clock rush. The gym round the corner of my flat, by the way, not the one behind the hospital. That one, don’t get me started on how crowded that one can be. Anyways, I usually like going there on Wednesdays, but—’

‘You are _really_ bad at this, Robb. Just get to the gossip bit.’ She gestures for him to rush.

‘I don’t _gossip_ , Sans. I—’

‘I no longer have an interest in the fact that I have to work for whatever bit of information you have.’ 

‘Theon is apparently dating someone. _For real_ dating someone.’ 

Sansa’s leaning somehow makes her lose her balance, with her elbows slipping, and, as she tries to stop herself from tripping over her own feet, she drops her stethoscope. ‘That’s impossible,’ she argues as she hurriedly picks up her stethoscope.

Robb looks incredulous as he continues on, ‘Erm, Sansa, I’m his best mate. The fact that he’s been off lately, the fact that I caught him leaving work early, on the phone with his manager, saying he left because he was feeling ill, then immediately talking on the phone with someone with that shit-eating grin on his face whenever he’s genuinely chuffed about something, it all leads to one, obvious thing.’

Sansa is completely rapt by his theory, and hopefully is winning the battle to stop herself from trembling from the inside out. She recalls the exact phone call he’s talking about, the one that Theon had made to talk to her last night about feeling ill. The one that had lasted into the late hours of the night.

Robb shakes his head, unbelieving of her silence, ‘We both know Theon doesn’t settle down, but he hasn’t been seeing anyone else, not even casually. I know that because he hasn’t been ringing me about anyone he’s invited back to his place, telling me about all the different ways he--’

Sansa raises her hand to stop him, ‘I don’t need to know about those phone calls.’

‘Right,’ Robb snorts, realizing his mistake. 

Sansa tentatively asks, ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘About Theon’s nighttime activities?’ Robb raises his brows at her, but laughs again at her disgusted expression.

‘About something completely unrelated,’ she assures him, and feels herself plastering on a tight smile. ‘But, to put your theory to rest, we don’t have to entertain the fact that you’re obviously attempting to get back at Theon for gossiping about you. Bunch of gossips, you two.’

‘He’s obviously done worse than just gossiping,’ Robb retorts, but simply says, ‘But, go on then.’

Sansa clears her throat, thinking, _here goes nothing_. ‘I need your advice, but I can’t give you too many details.’

‘Then my advice might be less effective than you want it to be.’

‘Robb…’

‘Okay, I’ll try.’

‘Have you ever hung out with someone without anyone knowing?’

‘Do you mean, hang out... or _hang out_?’

‘This definitely feels wrong asking you.’

Robb seems to agree, and it might have to do with Sansa’s serious tone. Robb’s never been keen to discuss her love life, with his anger flaring up at the mere mention of her exes. Even now, he visibly fidgets in his seat. 

After a deep sigh, he manages to offer, ‘When Margaery and I started hanging out, we didn’t want anyone to know at first. In fact, we were worried about what you would think. We worried about ourselves too since we had an inkling that there was more to our friendship than we first realized. Point is, sometimes a cover-up could mean you might be covering up something else going on. Something that you might not know you’re feeling about that person, or something you’re terrified of feeling.’

‘I can’t. I don’t think I—it’s impossible—it’s—’

‘Terrifying.’

Sansa takes this in, swallowing a dry lump in her throat. It’s not hard to imagine what terrifies her. All she does is imagine Theon. Theon crowding her space. Theon holding her, and not in the way friends should. Theon and how he would include her in his nighttime activities. 

_Shit…_

‘Sansa, there is something else I came up to tell you,’ Robb says and doesn’t seem to notice her struggling with her thoughts. 

Sansa wrings her hands as she tries her best to focus on her brother. 

‘I just wanted to come up and tell you, and hopefully tell Theon too, that I’m sorry for avoiding you. Even after I promised both of you that I’d be better than that when my new job started, I still couldn’t face you two. I’ll admit, it does have to do with the fact that Margaery seems to be at every corner I turn, and a part of me still wants to kick Theon’s arse for what he did to get her involved in the first place,’ Robb pauses and rubs the back of his neck. ‘What I’m trying to say is that I’m exhausted from being miserable. And don’t tell Theon, but I have taken a few lunches alone in my office recently.’

‘Oh, _Robb_.’

‘No, don’t—don’t make me regret telling you.’

‘Alright, alright.’

‘I just want to tell you that I’m over it. At least, I want to be.’

Sansa’s fierce wishing away of conjured up images of Theon seems to be working as she concentrates on something Theon had said to her instead. The party, of course, the one she had promised she’d get both Robb and Margaery to go to comes to mind.

‘Prove it then.’

‘Prove it how?’

‘Before you came here today, I bet Theon that you’d try to find an excuse to not show up to the Christmas staff do.’

‘That gala you’ve been helping organize? I wasn’t going to find an excuse—’

‘Save it. Just promise me you’ll go, regardless if Margaery’s going to be there or not.’

Robb doesn’t bat a lash, but does take his time to reply, ‘Of course, I’ll be there. I’ll be fine, and I’ll be fine with being around her... maybe I’ll try to talk to her and try to apologize to her too. We can both be adults about moving on.’

It takes all of her to contain her excitement as she attempts nonchalance. ‘Good. Besides, it’s nearly the entire hospital staff that’s been invited. It’s not as if you’ll have to interact with her too much. You’ll be lucky to say your ‘ow dos _’_ before you’re catching up with someone else.’

Robb looks slightly dubious, but nods his head. ‘Right…’

The light at the end of the corridor goes on, along with a beeping sound that stirs them both from their conversation, and Sansa is reminded of the very pregnant patient she had told to page her if she was needing help. 

Robb catches her before she leaves. ‘Sansa, about whoever you’re hanging out with now, it seems good for you, you seem...content, lighter. I know it’s not been the best for you in the last year, what with the _winners_ you’ve dated before’--Sansa makes a face--‘but it does seem different for you this time. Maybe it has something to do with this friend of yours.’

* * *

Theon is ringing her up from her apartment complex’s entrance.

‘Theon, what are you doing here?’ Sansa hopes she doesn’t sound too startled over the line, and she self-consciously tugs at the pyjamas she’s been wearing all day. 

Theon’s frown is still discernible through his pixelated form on her flat’s intercom monitor, and it deepens at her words. ‘Sans, it’s Thursday. It’s Tikka Thursday.’ 

Her monitor shows him raising his hand to brandish his bag of Hansa’s takeaway. She swears she can smell the curry from her flat, and her mouth waters. 

‘Are you letting me in or not? I can’t finish this on my own, I need your endless pit of a stomach to help me out.’

‘I’d fancy that tikka masala, lad,’ an elderly man comes hobbling into view behind him. 

Theon starts to shoo the man away as Sansa recognizes and laughs at Mr. Donavan from the flat at the opposite end of her corridor. 

‘You know, no one we know knows I’m here,’ Theon says, leaning into the speaker. 

‘Except for me,’ Mr. Donavan brightly adds. ‘I’ll buzz you in if I could get summat out of your takeaway.’

Theon rolls his eyes, ignoring him as he stares at the intercom camera. ‘Are you really going to shut down Tikka Thursday? Are you really going to give up the extra samosas I bought too?’ 

Finally, Sansa buzzes him in while promising a couple of samosas to her elderly neighbour, much to Theon’s chagrin. 

Theon comes through her flat on Thursdays like this with some kind of offering and a bottle of her favourite hard cider. Even after her protests, he always argues it’s to make up for imposing a visit several weeks ago. The first time he had stumbled through her living room, in a booze-addled haze, was by mistake, calling out for Robb to get him another lager. Instead, Sansa begrudgingly brought him in, subsequently got equally pissed, and allowed him to take shot after shot at her ex, Harry. Increasingly after that, Theon found his way back to her flat instead of her brother’s, and was oftentimes more sober than the previous visit. Tonight was no different, so she decided that it would be odd to continue to be so apprehensive.

But there were also her recent thoughts of him, and her very active imagination to go along with these thoughts. None of which is helped by the way Theon looks on closer inspection, fresh-faced after a recent shave, with his curls slightly damp, like he'd just showered. He smells good too. Theon never uses pungent cologne, but he uses clean soap that smells like mint and citrus. 

‘Don’t you have any clean drinking glasses, Stark? I swear, the prettier the girl, the messier the flat.’ Theon shakes his head, trying different cupboard doors in her kitchen.

Sansa bites the inside of her cheek when she joins him, and starts rummaging through her drying rack for two nearly dried tumblers. She hands them to him, while he starts to serve their drinks and their curry and rice meal.

When she tastes the coppery tang of blood, she stops grinding her teeth. In fact, she tries to calm down by watching Theon set their plates down with napkins and cutlery on her kitchen counter. He piles her food with a heavy hand, and it’s obvious that he’s grown aware of the fact that she’ll most likely complain and make him share some of his food if he doesn’t do so. It reminds her that she’ll soon have to add to their food spread by digging through her fridge to find the driest lager and pour him more than the cider he’s brought. 

‘Dig in,’ he tells her. He brings around her bar stools to her kitchen counter so that they can sit across from each other.

Theon was right to encourage their routine. Theon doing a cheesy jig to the music she tethers to her portable speakers feels silly but familiar. Finally letting out a fit of laughter she didn’t know she’d been holding back feels good. Theon being here feels right. She decides this is something she’d be sad to relinquish on the off chance that Margaery or Robb would start to ask serious questions about them.

‘I’ve domesticated you,’ she teases him after she swallows a spoonful of her chickpea curry and rice. 

He looks scandalized at that and scoffs, but, after what seems like a thoughtful minute of him swallowing his own food, he replies, ‘Had to find my manners and etiquette at some point. Oi!’

Her hand is swatted away at her attempt to steal from his plate. ‘Ow!’

‘I’ve hardly had any food, woman.’

‘Eat faster, _man_.’

Theon creates a barrier with his free arm as he attempts to shovel the remaining samosas on his plate. She can’t help but snort at this and tries to curl her lips inward before her own food starts springing out of her mouth. He starts spluttering too, trying not to laugh at the same time, turning red in the face from it all. 

‘Idiot.’

‘There’s something,’ Theon tells her after his laughing subsides, and he starts scrubbing his chin. 

Not understanding his gesturing, Sansa shakes her head, ‘You haven’t got anything there, wha—’

Theon doesn’t say anything else, but he stretches over the counter and over her plate so that he’s close enough to touch her. At first, his touch is feather-light as his fingers skim her chin. Her movements stop altogether. Their eyes lock as his thumb grazes just under her bottom lip, and he presses more firmly as he swipes there. 

At some indiscernible moment, she musters some semblance of reasoning to notice what he’d just done, eyeing the hand that touched her and the bit of chickpea that he swiped away from her chin. 

She swallows slowly, and says, ‘Thanks.’

He looks away, shrugging as he cleans his hand. ‘What would you do without me?’ he asks quickly. Then, he gulps down more of his lager, and she notices that he comes up for air after a rather long swig. 

She can feel her cheeks grow hot at the thought of him being affected by touching her, and, thankfully, his eyes are still resolutely averted. 

By the time they settle on her couch to choose between Sansa’s preferred, newly released true-crime drama or something about undersea creatures because Theon likes it when David Attenborough narrates, Sansa truly eases. So much so that she feels herself drifting at Blue Planet II’s second episode.

‘Just resting my eyes,’ she mumbles before she can sense him start to tease her, and she faintly hears him chuckling.

At some level of sleepy consciousness, and by the third episode, she realizes that they hadn’t gotten to the point of the night where they usually shared the progress between Robb and Margaery. She wants to ask how much more they could do. She wants to ask how they can get away with much more now that Margaery’s found them out. She also never really got a straight answer for his becoming invested in helping Robb and Margaery in the first place, and how it sometimes seems like he’s doubled his efforts, more so than she has when it comes to her brother’s love life. Then, Margaery’s voice filters through her thoughts again.

_This is more than a matchmaking scheme for him_...

She’s dazed when she thinks she hears herself ask Theon some kind of question from all of the above, but she also thinks she could be drifting into a dream instead.

_Blaring_. She realizes that she hears her alarm blaring. 

Her alarm is in her bedroom, she groggily thinks. She must be sleeping in bed, comes her other thought as she peels open one eye to check her bleary surroundings. 

‘Theon?’

She slowly starts to wake her senses. Warm sheets enveloping her. The other certain sounds of her bedroom, the window slightly ajar to allow the city’s bustling white noise to enter her room. The smell of sweet cider on her breath.

She jolts upright, and calls, ‘Theon?’ 

She stops herself from calling out after this, realizing that she’s indeed in bed, and the alarm clock tells her that it’s morning. 

If he were here, they’d be in her living room with the television still on, and he’d be sleeping on the couch next to her own makeshift bed on the love seat. She then realizes that he had mentioned working a day shift this morning, so she settles on the fact that he’s definitely gone to work. 

Then, an idea hits her harder than wondering how she got in bed. The question of how she got in bed strikes her. If not for Theon moving her himself, crowding her space, holding on to her before tucking her in, how else would she have gotten here? As she sits up straighter, hugging her legs inwards, resting her chin on her knees, she knows the answer to that question.

She doesn’t have to mentally list the rules of their relationship that they had agreed upon to know she was breaking an unspoken one. She could feel herself falling for Theon’s kindness, for making her laugh until her sides hurt, for the comfort he’s brought her for these past several weeks, for the way she imagines where he’s touched her last night. She was falling for him. As she swiftly takes a pillow to muffle herself, she groans, ‘Theon _fucking_ Greyjoy.’

_**tbc** _


	4. Chapter 4

__

_I'm in rapture_   
_From the inside I can feel that you want to_   
_Wake up high on it_

_I dare you - The xx_

**THEON**

If Theon could find the end of the sentence, the last word in a conversation, or the punch line, he’d damn well go down trying to find it. He doesn’t know when that urge started, but he figures it had to do with making a pretty girl laugh in primary school once.

He also makes Sansa laugh.

Right. That’s a problem. Sansa. No, not her exactly. The urge to make her laugh might be the actual culprit. 

> **Robb** : you’re late again. mate, you said you’d meet me here at 6, it’s 630.

This is the other problem. Robb. How the hell would he be able to explain how he’s been actively fantasizing about making his best friend’s sister laugh? Not fantasizing, no, that’s definitely an odd way of putting it. 

> **Theon** : your pants in a twist again? I’m about to step off the lift, I’ll meet you at the ballroom entrance. 

He easily lies as he only just enters the hotel, trying to find the aforementioned elevator. All the while, he won’t admit to being a terrible friend. He rationalizes that he’s not one to lie often to Robb, not about massive things, especially not about potentially deal-breaking revelations about his sister. 

‘Just breathe,’ Theon tells himself as he finally finds the corridor of elevators, and steps inside the first one that opens up. 

He remembers he had been holding his breath when he last saw Sansa. When he last saw her, he hadn’t meant to touch her, to hold her, but he reasons that if she hadn’t fallen asleep on him, he wouldn’t have to do what he did. Besides, any good friend would’ve carried her to her bed, tucked her in, brushed a few strands of hair off her face, lingered a bit to hear her faint murmuring to ensure she was asleep...

‘ _Fuck_ …’ he breathes as the elevator doors open.

Robb is across the wide corridor from the elevator doors, waiting at the doors to the ballroom and the Christmas staff party. He’s wearing a similar suit and tie ensemble to Theon's. From afar, he can also spot Robb wearing a half-hearted smile, clearly anxious about crossing the threshold to the party.

‘Y’arite?’ Theon earnestly asks him when they meet.

When Robb shrugs, still looking hesitant, Theon decides he might actually be the world's biggest arse to the only best friend he’s ever had. He is a liar, lying on two counts. He was lying by omission when he didn’t get permission to send Robb’s letter to an ex-girlfriend he’s clearly been troubling over, so much so that Robb’s seemingly conflicted over entering his own staff do. Then, there was his full intention of taking his fantasies of Sansa being more than just his Tikka Thursday friend to the grave. Fantasies. Yes, he thinks, that would be the way to properly label the act of incessantly thinking of someone in ways friends shouldn’t think of each other.

In fact, he’s been thinking about her this way since drunkenly collapsing into her flat over a month ago. If he were being completely honest, it might have started earlier than that. He doesn’t think finding her cute, dressed up as Wendy for a primary school pantomime of Peter Pan, counts, but he’s always felt a distinct pang in his chest when it came to Sansa. Something always triggered that twinge of pain when he’d notice any of her exes causing her grief, or if she was upset about anything at all. Sometimes, when she was happy, he’d strangely feel it too.

On second thought, friends definitely don’t tuck other friends in bed, holding their breath in, feeling the urge to move strands of hair out of their eyes, wondering if the other would do the same for them.

‘Let’s just go in,’ Robb tries enthusiasm, his smile clearly straining. ‘Have you seen Sansa, by the way?’

‘Why? No, why would I know where she is? She’s _your_ sister.’ Theon regrets his urgent reply as he says it.

‘ _This_ is what I’ve been telling you, you’re acting off again.’ 

Theon waves him off, almost in the same way he’s trying to do so to his quickening heartbeat, and gestures for him to go into the ballroom hall. ‘Go on then. Sansa’s probably in here, she helped organize the bloody thing.’

Theon is glad Robb settles in after grabbing a drink from the open bar, and it clearly helps his friend with his run-in with Margaery. If not for the martini in Robb’s hand, he’s not sure how Robb would do without something tempering his nerves, especially not with the way he’s staring after her. 

Robb and Margaery both look like they belong on the front cover of one of Sansa’s fashion magazines. Robb in the deep blue suit he’s borrowed from him, which looks better on Robb because he’s always been unintentionally annoying that way. Margaery in a glittery, gold gown with its front cut exceptionally low, a look that’s never less than sophisticated on her. How could two people who look so perfect standing next to one another, who seem so perfect for each other, find a reason to be apart from each other? 

Something had to be done, he thinks, and some of the resolve he had in justifying lying to Robb in the first place surfaces. If two people can get past their history, it could right a wrong. That’s what he wanted for Robb, someone who deserved more than he got. For as long as he’s known Robb, he’s not known him to have an easy go at life. 

Being the eldest child after his father’s death made Robb grow up sooner than most, as he helped his mother take care of the whole family. With so many children and people bustling through and about their household, Theon often wondered how they coped on a daily basis. Yet, Robb, at nearly thirteen, knew to ask Theon to stay longer or even sleep over their house when it was obvious that Theon had reservations about going back to his own.

Robb made things lighter, even when things and circumstances felt heavier. Theon knew he had a home with the Starks, and he had a family with them too. Which makes all Theon’s hiding from Robb a crucial thing that could very well disrupt everything, everything he cares about.

‘Robb’s nervous because I’ve told him about Renly pulling away from Margaery.’ Sansa comes to his side, sipping from a champagne flute. ‘They’ve been talking less and less since she’s been away. Last week, Margaery made it seem like Renly might be breaking up with her.’ 

He’s vaguely aware of what she’s said, as he stares at how stunning she is in a floor-length, red dress. Its slinky material hugs her figure. The tumble of her long, red curls shimmers even under the dimly lit ballroom lights. All of it does nothing for his own nerves, and he must be frozen to her since Sansa raises a cocked brow at him.

‘Theon…’

‘ _Whasthizabout_?’ Theon balls his hands into fists from the frustration of his apparent speech impediment.

Sansa clears her throat and takes another sip of champagne. ‘Robb and Margaery are actually talking to each other, and all I have to do is keep Joffrey happy and occupied, which will then help Cersei get off Margaery’s back.’

‘I have to talk to you,’ Theon doesn’t think before he tells her, not sure where he’s going with his thoughts.

Sansa’s features twist into confusion at his hesitance to continue and his likely staring. ‘Theon, we’ve already been through this plan over the phone… Joffrey is waiting…’

Theon wills his own features to not twist, not from confusion, but from annoyance at the mention of Joffrey. He’d rather talk to her about the wonderful job she’s done to the ballroom, organizing the Winter Wonderland motif surrounding them, with twinkling fairy lights dangling from the high ceiling and the gleaming dusting of fabricated snow on the pillars about the halls. He’d rather ask her to spend the rest of the night with him talking about the mundane list of jobs she had to do to set this all up, instead of her actual plans tonight. What he’d rather not do is speak about Joffrey at all.

‘I’ve been thinking about how we’ve been skirting around Robb and Margaery, and whoever else you think we should pretend around—’

‘You agreed to it. You even added your own bloody rules to our list.’

‘Yes, but, I’ve been thinking that we’ve made this thing between us a bigger deal than it should be.’

‘What do you want to do?’

‘What if we just told everybody that we’ve started hanging out more? Simple as that. It’s mad that we didn’t even consider it to begin with.’

‘Got scared.’

‘Margaery has that effect.’ 

Sansa laughs, and the pang returns to his chest. 

‘They’re looking quite content, maybe even happy to be around each other,’ Sansa says, and joins Theon in watching Robb enthusiastically speaking to Margaery now. ‘Maybe that’ll soften the blow when we tell them.’

‘Right, we’ll find them at the end of the night and just... tell them,’ Theon suggests.

Sansa nods in agreement, with something else causing her features to crease again, something he can’t quite pinpoint. ‘Fine, we’ll do it together after the party. We’ll tell them there’s nothing but friendship between us.’

At that, Theon finds his exit by telling her that he needs to find the bar.

* * *

It’s not that Theon finds Anya from HR repulsive. In fact, it wouldn’t have been odd to have left with her before the Christmas party ended. She’s a gorgeous, leggy blonde with a crude sense of humour that makes his toes curl, something he distinctly remembers when they had fooled around at the last Christmas party. She’s even giving him more than enough encouragement from the look in her eyes, a look that’s currently boring through him.

Or is she glaring? Admittedly, he is distracted and can’t tell the difference. At the last Christmas party, he hadn’t been distracted by trailing Sansa’s whereabouts as he is now, dangling on the last phrases and snippets of her conversations with Joffrey when they crossed paths. Pathetically, he even tries and fails to interject in another conversation when Sansa and Joffrey find their way to the bar.

‘Really, Theon, _this_ is not fun. When did you stop being fun?’ Anya exasperates and leaves him with that to think about.

He watches as Sansa and Joffrey find their way on the opposite end of the bar, and the stark contrast of his memories of last year’s festivities to tonight’s are abundantly more clear. He’s pining for Sansa’s attention. It’s true, he can’t lie to himself now—he’s pining, for Gods’ sake. At this rate, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to manage declaring his friendship to a girl he’s clearly wanting more from. 

‘Gods, this party's boring,’ Someone says, ripping him from his seemingly tunnelled vision of Sansa and Joffrey.

‘Yara? You don’t even work here,’ Theon puzzles over her sudden appearance.

‘Margaery invited me and she mentioned an open bar.’ Yara slaps his back heartily as she always does to greet him.

‘You’re dressed in jeans and trainers.’

‘They’re black. And I’m wearing a black tie.’ Yara shrugs and clinks her glass with his empty one before she takes a swig of hers.

‘That’s not what black-tie event means.’

Yara ignores him and directs a waiter carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres her way, taking an assortment of finger foods.

‘You don’t want to be here, do you?’ She says with a mouthful of crab cake, and Theon wonders what face he’s wearing to make him look so transparent. 

‘No, not really,’ Theon admits, then tells the bartender to pour him another drink. 

‘So, finish your drink and let’s get out of here.’

‘I need to help—’ he pauses to look over Sansa’s way, watching her laugh with Joffrey. ‘Robb could use some help—’ he stops again, watching his friend sitting next to Margaery at a faraway corner. Huddled close, they appear to be deep in conversation, looking quite content with separating themselves from the party. 

‘I could get some fresh air.’

‘Or another drink that doesn’t have these ridiculous names—Snowball? Blizzard Daiquiri?—No offence.’ She winks at the bartender that serves Theon.

‘Don’t feel like going out, Yara.’ 

‘I meant let’s just head over to my flat. Tell your precious Starks that you’ve been kidnapped by me later since they both seem preoccupied.’

The plan had worked. Sansa’s found a way to keep all parties occupied, looking happy to do so (he can’t help but grit his teeth to admit this). Robb’s clearly getting over his nerves. Margaery’s smiling in a way he’s not seen her do so in a long time. Theon can’t deny that any interruption on his part would be sorely misplaced. 

‘Come on, little brother, ’ Yara teases, nudging him forward. 

‘Right, let’s fuck off then.’

* * *

Robb texts him a few times after he notices that Theon’s left. He mentions something about Margaery’s brother, Loras, losing an acting job. Because of this, Robb might not be able to meet him after the party. It’s all fine with Theon. This is what he and Sansa had planned for, so, of course, he wouldn’t deny Robb’s wanting to comfort Margaery. He remembers when Margaery had found Loras in the hospital years ago. Though she had never shared what he was admitted for, Theon had his own theories based on the handful of times he’s partied with Loras. No one, not even Theon, could ever keep up with his drinking, changing moods and erratic behaviour. So, tonight, Margaery and Robb would be apt to find out what Loras would do next. 

Sansa texts too and her excuse for ditching their plans to talk to Robb and Margaery is less than clear. Even though Sansa seems to be oblivious about Margaery’s brother, it takes all of him to not selfishly call her out or to completely destroy Joffrey over text—

> **Sansa** : completely knackered, I’m not feeling up to telling my brother and Marge tonight. I promise we will tho.

Theon decides not to answer her at all, denying himself the urge to ask what Joffrey is up to. What _they_ could be up to.

‘You and Sansa, ey?’ Yara smiles into her beer bottle, sliding a bit further down on her couch.

Theon feels his stomach drop, holding on to the fabric of his own seat on her couch and gripping the neck of his bottle harder. 

‘What?’ He tries to sound nonplussed.

‘Obvious,’ she says, shrugging again.

For a moment, he thinks to deny whatever insinuation she’s thinking outright, but as Yara gives him a look, a look he’s known all his life, he knows there isn’t any chance he’ll be able to bullshit through an answer. 

‘Obvious how?’

Yara rolls her eyes in a way that manages to condescend and sympathize all at once. ‘I know, you’ve been in love with all the Starks for half your life. You spent more time with them than you did with us.’ 

As much as this was true, he had always hoped his sister knew that it had more to do with their father than with her. 

‘He would sometimes lock the door on me. Did you know?’ 

Yara shakes her head, but seemingly follows along with a story she must know is about their father. 

‘He knew, whenever I walked home after dinner from Robb’s, I’d be home by nine. One night, I was early by a few minutes, but he wouldn’t open the door to me. I stayed out for hours until I went back to Robb’s in the middle of the night. He’d do that a few more times before I learned to stay with the Starks on the nights I didn't feel like being disappointed. On the days that I was lucky, you were able to catch the door before him.’

Yara takes a silent sip from her lager before admitting, ‘I didn’t know that was happening...You know, he used to say he was turning our pissed-off-his-mind uncle Euron away.’

‘He cares about you, though, so I suppose that means he wasn't _half_ bad as a father,’ he says humourlessly. 

‘That doesn’t mean he wasn’t difficult.’ 

‘Yara, I…’ Theon starts, ‘You had to know...I never meant to make it seem like I didn’t want to be around you too. You were the only thing worth coming home to when we were younger.’

Yara’s in mid-swig when she stops, taking a beat to swallow her drink.

‘Stop,’ Yara shakes her head. ‘Stop making this about how shitty dad was, we both knew that. And I’m not your mum, so I don’t need a sappy thank you for how I basically raised you. Let’s just keep this talk about what this is really about. No more deflections.’

Theon takes a big breath, clearing his head of the unpleasant memories of their childhood and refocusing to…

‘Sansa,’ Theon says as if it’s an admission. 

‘Prettiest Stark, then it's Robb, in my opinion. And people will say that it’s the other way round, but we both know that he doesn’t do it for me.’ 

‘Stop,’ Theon sighs. ‘You’re making this worse.’

‘Fine, just tell me you’ve told her how you feel.’ 

Theon shakes his head, and instead explains the long, complicated story of how this all started. From the Peter Pan pantomime to the moment he had at Sansa’s flat, when they grew tired of drinking and ripping apart Harry Hardyng’s reputation, and started planning Robb and Margaery’s reunion, he only spares the details of his inner monologue waxing poetic about Sansa. Once Theon gets to his explanation of his and Sansa’s paranoia and rules about their friendship, Yara stops him. 

‘So...you started a plot to get Robb and Margaery back together just to avoid facing the problem you have in just telling Sansa how you feel. You know that, right?’

Theon soundlessly opens his mouth before shutting it closed again. 

‘And you think this set of rules is supposed to stop you two from making people suspicious? Do you have any idea why you two made these stupid rules up to begin with?’

‘I’m not a complete idiot.’

‘Fooled me.’

‘I—I realize that I agreed to the rules because I genuinely thought my feelings for her would just...I don’t know...change. Maybe if I’d ignore them and she’d deny them, and maybe if she’d meet someone…’

‘Idiots, both of you.’

‘Both of us?’

‘I was just at the boring party, remember? Sansa was looking at you with the same hopeless look you’ve got on now just thinking of her.’

Theon stares through the neck of his bottle of beer, swirling and staring at its frothy contents, mulling over Yara’s words. Could he be hopeful again, this time in wondering what it would be like to be _with_ Sansa? 

As if on cue, someone raps loudly at Yara’s door, stirring him from his wishful thinking. 

Through her door, a muffled voice slurs, ‘C’mere...and open the door, will you...Theon? Yara?’

It’s Robb, Theon realizes. He gets up and opens Yara’s door for him. 

‘Mate, how did you know where I was—ooof,’ Theon starts, but is nearly toppled over by Robb pushing past him. A distinct, heavy smell of vodka and soda is left in his wake.

‘Y’arite, Stark?’ Yara laughs as Robb plops down beside her, taking Theon’s spot on her couch. In his slouched position, he looks as rumpled as his suit, with its collar unbuttoned and his sleeves riding up his forearms as if he’s been repeatedly pushing and folding them up past his elbows. 

‘How’s Mar—’ Theon starts after he locks the door, until he hears Yara loudly clearing her throat. Turning around, he sees Yara fiercely shaking her head away from Robb’s view.

When he approaches them, he sits on the couch’s arm, warily eyeing Robb. His friend’s face is flushed, his eyes are glazed over, and it’s hard to tell if Robb’s strained expression is from not taking his alcohol well or something he’s about to divulge. 

‘She—erm, she’s,’ Robb seems hesitant to finish his thought, but clears his throat before he manages, ‘Margaery’s just told me that Renly’s asked her to marry him. He asked her just last night when he came to visit. It was a surprise to her, she said.’

‘She won’t,’ Theon says before he can help it, not quite believing it. 

‘She is, she’s just not got the ring yet. She says that she meant to wear it tonight, but Renly’s having it resized because he somehow got her measurements wrong,’ Robb explains with a calmness that’s oddly placed for him to be telling this kind of news, though his eyes do not meet either Yara or Theon. 

Theon tries to make a grab for his bottle during the silence that takes over them, but Robb beats him to it, nearly finishing the bottle in one swig.

‘Robb, I don’t know what to say,’ Theon carefully admits.

‘Well,’ Robb starts, his jaw muscles flex visibly as if he’s chewing on something quite hard to swallow, and finally locks his eyes with Theon's. ‘I wish you never brought her here, then I wouldn’t be in this situation.’

Theon takes the blow and knows he deserves it. Then, because he still can’t help himself, he says, ‘I just knew you needed to feel better, better than you were for a long time. Even with your new job, I just felt...I felt nothing made you happier than Margaery. I thought bringing her back home would help, I thought--’

‘Well, you thought wrong,’ Robb cuts in bitterly, glaring at the bottle in his hand. ‘It was a stupid, fucking reckless idea.’

Finally, these are the emotions he hadn’t gotten from Robb when he had first found out about Margaery. There was annoyance and dismissiveness before, something that was odd at the time, but he hadn’t seen him visibly upset until now. Theon thinks to add something more, but, as if both Robb and Yara sense this, they both shout out loud.

‘Shut up!’ Both Yara and Robb burst out in near unison, though Yara, surprisingly, is directing her anger at Robb. 

‘Yes, Theon can be reckless. Yes, he’s gone and done something stupid, even if it was well-meaning’--Theon doesn’t know where Yara is headed with this, so he winces--‘but, let’s not pretend that he’s the only problem here.’ 

‘You’re right, I’m angry at myself for putting myself through this misery. I wanted her to tell me all about her new fiancé and the new life she’ll be moving on to when she leaves in two week’s time,’ Robb groans, slamming the beer bottle on the coffee table, and rubbing his face vigorously.

Theon swallows any of his other thoughts down, imagining Robb’s gutted expression when Margaery gave him her engagement news.

‘I...I still love her,’ Robb says quietly as if he were saying it to himself. He finishes Theon’s drink before he adds, ‘And she’s marrying someone else.’

Yara sighs, and tries more soothingly, ‘It doesn’t change what really matters. Just know that she came here for you. I bumped into her at the train station on her first day back. She couldn’t have looked more unlike herself, like she was unsure of herself. And flustered. When has Margaery ever been flustered, except about you? She couldn’t even explain why she came back. There’s only one reason for that.’

Robb clenches his jaw again, retorting, ‘What good is any of that now?’

‘Not a whole lot if you keep thinking the way you do.’

‘Fucking hell,’ Robb rolls his eyes at her. 

‘You have to get your head out of your romantic arse for once.’

Robb has a stormy look in his eyes at that. ‘My problem is that I’m a romantic? Wouldn’t that fix this mess? When, in fact, I haven’t done one single romantic thing for her since she’s come back. I didn’t say anything when she first confronted me. I’ve been avoiding her the entire time she’s been working at the hospital. Even tonight, after we spent time with Loras at his flat, she told me about her engagement and I didn’t say much of anything. I just congratulated her like it was nothing to me. I barely told her a proper goodnight. I thought I wanted to move on and ignore how I’ve been feeling, but I regret everything now...I have to do something, something that’ll make her see—I just need time to think.’

‘For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always been a romantic, wanting to be noble and overly dramatic about everything. About your family. About your job. Especially about Margaery. You’ve always chosen dramatic gestures over plain sense. It’ll be the same this time too. You’ll either pine in silence because you think that it’s somehow the right thing to do or convince yourself that you’ll need to marry her before Renly does. Or maybe by the time it’s nearly too late, you’ll miraculously come to her with some declaration of your love. Either way, it would be a mistake.’

Robb is silent after this, but he looks a bit more like he’s seriously contemplating her words rather than being outright offended.

‘Talk to her, really talk to her. Ask her how she feels about you and this wedding, tell her you’ve loved her this entire time, like the sap I know you are, but don’t wait too long. I don’t want to hear anything about you running to the train station two weeks from now to make a scene of winning her back.’ 

‘I wasn’t going to do that,’ Robb ruefully grumbles. ‘Besides, this is all based on the assumption that she still feels the same way that I do.’

Yara nudges his knee with her bottle. ‘A woman doesn’t come halfway across the country for an ex, and decides to stick around while she’s set to marry the man she’s left behind. Robb, she’s having problems trying to convince herself of going through with a life she doesn’t really want.’

‘Margaery’s a logical woman,’ Theon surfaces from silence, and braces himself from the possibility of getting burned by Robb again, ‘but she’s just like you. She’d kill me for saying this, but she’s just as sentimental as you.’

Robb surveys Theon as if in a new light. However, his wide eyes and his slowly opening mouth might actually mean…

‘Oh shit—’ 

‘Robb?’

Robb unsteadily bolts for Yara’s bathroom, and his audible retching makes Theon feel queasy in his own stomach. And as if this was any indication of where their night was going, all the seriousness of their talk seems to run on steam, with the air seemingly clearing of any tension.

‘Yara, I’ll take care of Robb, can we…’ 

‘Both stay the night? Who else would take the pair of you sad sacks?’ Yara jokes, gesturing for him to move to open up the fold-out bed of the couch.

Theon nods and starts to thank her when she interjects, ‘Dad should’ve been better, he should’ve told you that you were a good little boy, that you made him proud for growing up and getting a fancy medical degree instead of slumming it with us at the shipyards, and that you deserve good things to happen to you, all things men like him aren’t capable of doing. But, I’m telling you now.’ Yara sighs, and brings over a few pillows to fluff. 

Not so quietly since Robb continues to groan loudly in her bathroom, she adds, ‘You deserve to be happy, even if you think you don’t or if you think things will be complicated. My advice stands for you too, you know. Don’t wait too long...especially for someone like Sansa.’

Theon feels his chest swell from just her words, and though a massive part of his thoughts are dedicated to his insecurities of what she’s asking him to do, he still doesn’t want to disappoint her. So, before he can reject the idea, he promises, ‘I’ll tell her.’ 

_**tbc** _


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: smut ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Thank you for all the lovely comments, I really appreciate all the love. I love engaging with all of you too!
> 
> 2) Some of you notice the shifts in POVs. I will continue to do this, but will only shift between Robb, Margaery, Theon, and Sansa.

_So just know that I want you back  
_ _Just know that I want you, I'll take the fall and the fault in us_

_Want you back - HAIM_

**ROBB**

Shouting from the opposite end of the corridor, Theon announces, ‘I’ve seriously debated whether or not to tell everyone this mental news—’

‘You practically ran from the lift, Theon,’ Robb says without lifting his eyes from his patient’s clipboard, and, to brace himself for whatever Theon’s got in store for him, he tells his group of residents to take five minutes in the break room.

Theon pants as he reaches Robb at the nurse’s station, and hands over an order of a long black coffee. ‘Thanks,’ Robb says as he looks up to offer an appreciative smile. He reminds himself that Theon is trying. 

Between vomiting and falling asleep from the night of the Christmas party, Robb remembers hashing out his grievances with Theon in the middle of the night. While lying spread-eagled and bleary-eyed on Yara’s pullout bed, Robb remembers Theon, who took the smallest couch to sleep next to him, was simply listening instead of interjecting. When he was impulsively cursing at him, Theon shrugged and told him to sleep. If he was droning on and on about something nonsensical, he only imagines Theon agreeing from his affirming hums and grunts.

Belatedly, Robb knows not to test Theon’s loyalty. They’ve had their fair share of arguments in the past, but it has always come down to this. No matter how small or big the issue was, Theon cared enough to make a bigger fuss about making it up to him. 

When they were much younger, Theon would be the instigator of the bulk of bad decisions between them, but he was also the only person that decided against retreating from their friendship after his father’s death. He remembers Theon at his doorstep, almost everyday after school, reminding him that even if Robb had to be the man of the house at thirteen, he still had to be thirteen with his best friend.

‘I did it, I nearly didn’t do it hence the hesitation in telling anyone, but I did it!’ Theon grins from ear to ear. ‘I booked the insanely booked up restaurant, Dashi, for your sister’s birthday. You know the one that had their whole restaurant emptied out for those annoying reality-influencer-model-whatever-they-are stars she’s obsessed with.’

Robb’s impressed. ‘How’d you pull that off?’

‘Charm.’

Robb smirks, waiting for another answer.

‘A tenner to get the hostess to look at the master schedule and another twenty quid to just get a tip to call when a frequently flaky client cancelled.’

‘Well done, you,’ Robb laughs. ‘When’s the dinner, so I can book it off?’

‘This Saturday.’ 

‘Great. Now, I have to go back to my students. They’re—’

‘I also invited Marge.’

Robb had been waiting for this. After their talk from the other night, of the conscious moments where they spoke of motivations and hypotheticals, he expected Theon to be persistent about Margaery. 

‘Theon,’ he tries patiently. ‘I still haven’t spoken to her for a reason.’

‘But you said you wanted to do summat, mate. So, this is your chance. You’re not having second thoughts, are you?’

‘No, I—’ Robb greets a few patients passing by and delegates a nurse to check his latest drug orders. ‘I just have no idea what to say or how to say what I need to say yet.’

‘As long as you don’t—’

‘I’m not going to wait until the train station,’ Robb exasperates, and then winces when he asks, ‘Have you always thought I was hopeless too? I’m not that much of a sap, am I?’

Theon soundlessly gestures, and his prolonged silence irritates Robb. 

‘Fine. I am. I follow my heart, my heart’s always been on display, on my fucking sleeve’—Robb exclaims surprise with an overly high-pitched ‘ _Hi, y’arite!_ ’ to an elderly couple passing through, and waits until they’re out of earshot—‘Happy?’

‘Only if you follow that heart straight to Sansa’s party, right to Margaery.’

Robb sighs. He knows that he too had been wondering if his sister’s birthday would give him the opportunity to talk to Margaery. 

‘I will, but I do feel odd about taking all my attention away from the birthday girl. Which reminds me... Will you do me favour?’ Robb asks, ‘Would you mind tracking down a friend of Sansa’s? She mentioned that this friend meant a lot to her. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my sister this happy, in the way that she deserves to be.’

‘What friend?’ Theon asks, arms crossing over his chest.

‘She mentioned that she’s started hanging out with him and is afraid to tell people about him. You two have gotten rather close lately…’

Theon suddenly bursts out laughing, ‘Barely.’

‘Right,’ Robb shakes his head at Theon’s awkward response. Could Theon be paranoid of getting another reprimand, this time about becoming closer to his sister? If he was hypersensitive about upsetting him once again, it wasn’t necessary. Robb assures him, ‘Theon, it’s okay. In fact, you two getting close since I’ve been so miserable this past year was inevitable. She’s really had a good influence on you, actually. When have you ever made reservations for a woman without expecting—’

Robb laughs out loud this time, realizing what he was leading his thoughts to. And when Theon stays silent, he tries to calm him again, ‘Relax, I just thought you’d be someone who she might confide in about this mystery guy. I can make jokes too.’

‘Debatable,’ Theon retorts, his hands fly up to the stethoscope around his neck and his grip tightens on them before he adds, ‘I mean, if you really think she’d want him to be around for her birthday, I could ask her.’

‘Sorted.’ Robb claps his shoulder in approval. 

‘And you have to do me a favour too,’ Theon says. ‘I’ve asked Margaery if both of you could help get Sansa’s birthday cake.’

Robb’s mouth automatically gapes, and he feels an automatic protest rising, but Theon quickly explains, ‘She said yes, and it’ll give you more time to talk.’

‘Theon...’ Robb starts and stops a futile argument.

‘It’s just cake shopping, _and she said yes_ ,’ Theon says as if it were the simplest task.

It won’t be, but it does meaningfully remind Robb of Yara’s theory of why Margaery had taken the job and transferred back to Kingsland in the first place.

‘She said yes,’ Robb repeats as if he were convincing himself of the words’ deeper meaning. 

* * *

‘Are you going to get that cupcake or not?’ Margaery asks him as she joins him in staring through the glass plane, where rows of cookies, confectionery, and cake slices are displayed on multiple shelves. 

At the sixth boutique cake shop they’ve visited, since she insists Sansa’s taste in cake icing and textures are especially picky, he’s more aware of her being uncharacteristically conservative with her conversations. He’s not blaming her for the clipped conversations in between cake shopping, insignificant thoughts about the weather and an update of Loras’ recent lifted spirits. In fact, he’s sure it helps to distract them from their conversations veering into more uncomfortable topics, like being mistaken as a newly engaged couple seeking cake tastings by half of the cake shop owners they’ve visited so far. Renly’s newly-sized ring on her finger might not be helping here. 

_Gods, what was Theon thinking in assigning them this task?_ Is the first thought that comes to Robb’s mind. _What was I thinking of accepting it? Am I a glutton for punishment?_

From the moment he saw the ring on her finger, he had to rethink being here, being with her. Worse still, she kept fiddling with it, drawing his eyes to it each time. 

_Was that her intention?_

The moment he intended to have with Margaery and the talk he intended to have with her seemed more unlikely than he imagined. 

So, surprised that she’s not just commenting on cake icing or how it’s been dreadfully rainy today, he replies, ‘I was thinking about having a treat. I might deserve one from all the shops you’ve been dragging me to.’

‘Well, I only suggest that you add one more cupcake to the other two I’m getting. It’s a buy three and get one free offer. I’d like an extra one, you see.’ 

He scoffs, feigning offence, ‘Why can’t I have the free one? Only seems fair for us to split the lot of them.’

‘Please,’ she takes a turn to scoff, rolling her eyes. ‘I haven’t seen you looking more healthy, you’ve obviously been eating nothing but cut up vegetables and regularly working out like some _healthy person_.’

Robb abruptly snorts, ‘Aye, and I never thought I’d love it as much as I do now.’

‘You used to hate running and even neglected a few memberships, if I remember correctly.’

‘I—uh—needed something to help me focus this past year. Besides work, it helps. I guess I’ve changed. That happens sometimes, doesn’t it?’

Margaery silently nods at this, with a small smile spreading on her lips before asking the woman behind the counter to pick out Robb’s cupcake. Another helper behind the counter gives her packaged share too. 

‘I hope not everything has changed,’ she says, passing him the elaborately iced cupcake to him. If there was another meaning behind her words, he might’ve picked it out if not for the pushy couple behind them, telling them to move along. 

‘True enough, red velvet is still my favourite.’ He bites into the spongy cake as they distance themselves from the queue of customers. 

‘Speaking of change…’ Again, Margaery surprises him by not rushing through this shop and continuing a conversation that didn’t have to do with something that could easily peter out or be forgotten in the next moment. She pauses to fiddle with her ring once again, and then asks, ‘Would you like a break from all of this?’ 

‘I thought this was the break,’ he replies before he takes another bite from the rest of his cupcake. ‘It’s delicious, by the way. I’ve genuinely not eaten anything like this since—’

‘I want to show you something,’ she rushes to say. 

Gulping down the rest of his cupcake, he nods. ‘Er—sure, as long as we find a cake for Sansa before the dinner tonight. Can’t we just settle for this place?’

At half-past three, Robb ends up carrying the paper bag and its boxed-up-cake contents from the last cake shop they visited (the seventh one), and tries to keep up with Margaery’s hurried steps to a street that looks vaguely familiar. 

Once they arrive at what he assumes is Margaery’s destination, a tall, boarded up terrace house, Robb watches as Margaery starts to make a phone call. 

‘Are you here?’ She asks whoever she’s ringing up, and she smiles eagerly. ‘Perfect, darling, we’ll wait.’

Minutes later, after Robb attempts to probe her about what they’re doing at an empty building, the double oak doors open to them, and a portly man in construction gear emerges. 

‘Ey up, you must be Renly,’ the man assumes, extending a hand to Robb to shake. ‘I’m Andrew.’

Margaery doesn’t seem annoyed at yet another mistaken assumption, but she briskly corrects him as she gestures for Robb to come into the building. Inside, scaffolding and construction work in various stages surround them. It’s not a derelict space, though a winding staircase with marble steps, an elevator enclosed in decorative iron grating, and a hand-carved, wooden counter at the end of the hall remind him of a hotel lobby from a worn away, past era. 

‘It was called the Duck and Drake, a small bed and breakfast, then it turned into a women’s shelter, then finally a small tutoring company,’ Margaery explains as she carefully maneuvers her high heeled steps around construction tools and paint buckets. She gestures for him to follow her toward the counter down the hall. ‘And it’s mine now.’

‘Yours? As in…’ 

‘I’ve always wanted to own the business that I do. I wanted brick and mortar for it. And now that a handful of my high profile clients have moved to this city, and are committing to staying my clients, I can start my own PR firm. Right here.’

Margaery touches the hardwood of the counter next to her, tapping her manicured nails over the countertop, taking in their surroundings with an endearing wistfulness about her. And when she smiles as she continues to look around them, she practically beams at boarded-up windows and unpainted walls. It makes him smile too. However, there’s a part of him that can't help but recall that she wasn’t beaming this way when she had told him that she’d be marrying Renly, but he can’t bring himself to be solely petty about that in the face of her excitement.

‘You always wanted this, and you finally made it happen. And you have a whole group of people who believe in you so strongly that they’re basically helping you build this place.’ He looks around and can imagine her here, with a thriving crowd of employees and clients. What’s more, it amazes him how she managed to arrange this, help Cersei, and find the time to get engaged all at once.

It also doesn’t escape him to realize that he had doubted she could manage this kind of life when they were together. He wanted both of them to stick to the plans they had since graduating uni, with a house after marriage, with children to follow shortly after, with none of the detours from this plan that Margaery kept changing along the way. If anything makes his smile falter for a moment, it’s the thought that he drove her away to find someone who wouldn’t doubt her. 

‘It’s amazing, and you’re the first person to see it,’ she says proudly, and he knows he can’t falter for a second more to keep her looking this happy. ‘Do you remember this street? We walked past that lamppost, the one with the commemorative plate with the funny name.’

As she tells him this, his memory catches up to him like a rushing wave. A whirlwind of a night out, sharing a bottle of wine on the steps to a chicken shop, and an almost-kiss under the lamppost’s light comes to mind. 

‘Percival Nutter.’

‘Tragic.’ Margaery laughs. ‘When I came by that lamppost last week, I saw this building across the street and had a wonderful moment. I knew I had to have it.’

‘It’s great,’ he says. He wants to feel happy for her, to ignore his guilty thoughts, but he barely negotiates with himself to remain tight-lipped when he suddenly confesses, ‘I’m sorry…’

Margaery’s smile fades and her brows furrow at his apology. ‘Robb, what’s the matter?’

‘I’m sorry for making you think that any of this wasn’t possible before. I was a bloody idiot,’ he admits. ‘You’re incredible, Marge, and you deserve this.’

Margaery takes a step closer, with her lips curling inward for a thoughtful moment before she unfurls them to try a joke, ‘You don’t have to apologize for finally wising up.’

‘No, I mean it,’ he insists, and he feels the urge to make sure she sees his conviction as he keeps his gaze on her. ‘I—’

‘Off t’pub, miss,’ Andrew interrupts as if to remind them of his nearby presence. ‘My missus is waiting for me there, and the crew has since gone.’

Margaery seems to only catch the last part of Andrew’s interruption, shaking herself slightly to look in his direction. ‘I didn’t mean to hold you up, darling. I’m just so excited to show Robb—would you mind terribly if we stayed? I still haven’t finished showing him the rest of the place.’

Andrew rubs the back of his neck, looking hesitant. 

‘Oh, please, just for a little while, and I’ll lock up after we leave.’

Robb is not surprised that Andrew’s frown softens for her. Even more predictable is Andrew folding to her completely, ‘Go on then, love, only because you practically own the building now. Take my spare key.’

Andrew passes her the key and the chain it’s attached to, and she eventually sees him out as soon as she finishes catching up with his news about his children starting primary school last fall. 

‘What?’ Margaery wonders when she returns to his side to find him chuckling at her twirling the keychain on her finger. 

‘Nothing,’ he quiets down, clearing his throat. When he inhales, he feels as though he’s trying to rein in the thoughts he lost from being interrupted, ‘I—’

‘Come on, I meant what I told him.’ Margaery grabs his hand and steers him toward the other side of the hall. ‘There’s more to see of this place. The lift still works too. Wait until you see the second floor’s view of the city.’

Robb looks down at their clasped hands before they enter the elevator, and feels awkward when she lets go to pry open the elevator’s iron grating. As if he’s not sure of what to do with them, he shoves his hands into his pockets. 

‘Come on,’ Margaery urges him from inside the elevator when he tries to inspect it before moving forward. 

‘Dodgy,’ he says warily as he finally moves toward her, eyeing the elevator’s dated colouring and the dusty handrails around its perimeter.

When they both stand on the elevator’s platform, a cushioned floor that reminds him of a Persian rug, Margaery pushes the button to go up. The doors close, making a heaving noise as if the machinery were working with great difficulty. 

They’re finally alone, Robb realizes of their enclosed space. His mounting anxious energy, Yara’s advice, and Theon’s insistence to stop waiting to find a moment with Margaery. Suddenly, all of that seems amplified now. _It’s the moment_ , he goads himself inwardly.

‘Robb, I really appreciate you being here today,’ Margaery says, cutting through said moment. 

He hums as if containing words from the tip of his tongue, and he simply nods. 

‘Renly left today, he never got to see this,’ she says with her eyes averted, and she’s playing with her ring yet again. ‘I’m glad you said yes to today even with our history, even after I had ruined a completely perfect night at the Christmas do by telling you about Renly. I could tell by the way you reacted that—’

‘Marge—’

_CRRRACK_. Everything, in a jarring haze, seems to happen at once. A chasm without the floor beneath them splitting open. Lights flickering off and then back on. Margaery thrown toward him from the shuddering impact. 

Then, everything is still.

In his arms, Margaery finally lifts her head from his chest, with her hair mussed up from his hands instinctively covering her. He assures her, ‘You’re okay, you’re okay.’ 

‘What’s happened? Has the lift fallen through? Are we dead?’ She whispers, eyes flitting about.

A puff of laughter comes, shaking him from some of his initial shock. ‘No. I don’t think so,’ he assures her.

She must not realize their closeness, the recognition of their desperate pull to one another isn’t written all over her face. So, they’re still clinging to each other as if the elevator were in freefall, with his hands threading through her hair, her own hands curling into fists, gathering the fabric at the front of his shirt. Sansa’s boxed cake and their package of cupcakes lay forgotten at their feet. Some telltale crumbs and icing spilled from the bag of Sansa’s cake on its side are signs of its ruin.

Robb’s realization comes first, ‘Oh... _fuck me_ , we’re stuck, aren’t we?’

Pulling away from him, she follows suit, ‘No, no, no, no, no.’

Robb looks for the emergency button, lever, whatever looks like a way to signal for help. But, there are only three buttons with worn away symbols that read: one to go up, one to go down, and the red one he believes to be for emergencies like this one. Of course, none of them make the elevator budge or alarm for help. 

He turns to ask her to help, but she’s already trying her mobile. 

‘It’s not working, damn it,’ Margaery groans.

Robb tries his own phone, and his heart sinks like a stone when he can’t find a single bar displayed on his screen. ‘Wonderful,’ he sighs.

With the reminder of Sansa’s birthday party in a matter of hours, the likely squashed cake, and Margaery’s futile attempts in finding a signal from trying a number of arm-extending and crouching positions, Robb starts to feel declarations of any kind to Margaery taking another hit, receding to the back of his mind. In fact, he feels irritation bubbling up, and he suspects that she feels the same.

‘Marge, give it up.’ Robb slides down to the carpeted floor of the elevator and starts to rub his face in his hands.

Margaery seems to ignore him while she kicks off her heels and tries to crouch down low, moving her mobile to the bottom of the elevator door, possibly hoping to find a signal with this new position.

‘Well, what good will giving up do? We’ll be stuck here all night if we don’t—’

‘Well, clearly, we will be.’ 

Margaery huffs, not looking at him to concentrate on holding her crouched position to find a signal. She grumbles something indiscernible or something that sounds like a comment on his uselessness, and he can’t help but grumble back nonsense to mock her.

She turns to him with a withering stare, something he hadn’t seen in a long time. ‘Lovely attitude.’

‘I’m just being realistic.’ 

She shuts her mobile off with a punctuated finger jab to her screen, and finally sits across from him, her back to the elevator door. ‘As long as you don't start grandstanding about how this is fate or something about your Old Gods punishing us for whatever reason.’

Robb frowns, crossing his arms. ‘Don’t bring them into this. Mum, on the other hand, would say—’

‘Right, let’s just not talk for a while.’

Again, Robb can’t help it, ‘That I will agree on.’

‘I meant so that we could think about what to do.’

The _stare_ returns, and this time it feels like a threat. A threat to any more retorts. So, he keeps his thoughts on her bringing them to this old, musty box of an elevator to begin with. His arms cross more tightly against him as if it helps in holding himself back too.

‘Shutting up,’ he concedes.

Although he knows Margaery meant well with their silence, after some time he starts to feel this pause does not help either of them. Seeing Margaery through his stolen glances, he can spot her anxiousness. Repeatedly, she pulls at the ends of her dishevelled curls, twirling and twirling them.

Then, sparked by a fond memory, he thinks of a way to help, ‘Two truths and one lie.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You know, the game we used to play at uni.’

‘I know what the game is. I just thought we were trying to take a break from speaking.’

‘Come on, Marge, this isn’t helping. You and I both know you’re not coping.’

Margaery bites at her bottom lip, seemingly taking in his suggestion, and then nods. ‘Go on then.’

Robb panics for a moment, wondering what to share, and regretting starting something ill-prepared. Besides Margaery knowing him for so long, they had spent the whole Christmas party trying to catch up. She knew about his new job, how his family was doing, and how he had recently tried to get Greywind jogging on their walks with little success. 

_What else was there?_ He wondered.

‘Sansa told me that you started dating after us,’ Margaery says directly. ‘We could try guessing about each other’s dating stories for the game.’

Robb blurts out, ‘You’re with Renly now, there’s not much guessing there.’

Margaery doesn’t blush to say, ‘I dated before him, and I’m sure you had some experiences too.’

Admittedly, she wasn’t wrong. As much as the first months after they had broken up were painful, and even though she had been on his mind throughout this past year, he had tried to move on. He also knows that even before they started dating, Margaery’s varied and active dating life wouldn’t cause her to judge him. 

‘I’ve only dated a few people after you,’ he admits, feeling his face flush.

All the nervous clenching in her face seems to have left, and he’s glad she’s no longer focusing on whatever had been troubling her, but he does feel his own nerves racking up now.

‘Are you sure?’ He asks, even though he knows the answer she’ll give.

She rolls her eyes, but the mirth in them is unmistakable. ‘Stop stalling, and go on,’ she replies, laughing.

Robb takes a breath in, stalling even more with a slow exhale, which he can tell Margaery sees right through as she continues to laugh.

‘I,’ he starts, finding his voice to see her sitting up a bit straighter, her eyes on him. ‘I was on a date with a nurse on Sansa’s floor named Arabella, who seemed nice enough in the beginning. But when it came to the end of the night, she showed me her wallet full of her ‘children’—cats dressed up in fancy dress, like cowboys and ballerinas. All _nine_ of her children were in fancy dress.’ He pauses to nod in the face of Margaery’s disbelief. 

She’s still shaking her head as he continues, ‘Another date was with Dacey. She was great. I had a lot in common with her. She loves to work out, she’s a vet and was helping Greywind with an ear infection, and she even got on with Jon. It was helpful that she was getting on with Jon at the time since his break up with Ygritte made him more antisocial around the family than usual. But, eventually, it was a lot more clear why she stuck around whenever Jon turned up at my flat.’

Margaery winces, and assumes correctly, ‘And so she...and Jon.’ 

‘Yes.’ Robb clears his throat. ‘My last date was quite nice, it was with Jeyne. Cute girl, very kind, got on with her right away, and she already knew my family from helping them sell our family cottage. We were meant to go on another date, but—’

‘The first date is the lie, you’ve always told me that you would never date people you work with. Really, Robb. That wasn’t hard at all.’ Margaery interrupts him before he can tell her more, of how it ended with Jeyne, of how it was left quite open-ended since he had yet to call her back, of how Jeyne sometimes texts him because she’s not aware of his current situation. It’s unclear if she had cut him off on purpose or not.

‘My turn, I suppose.’ Margaery drums her fingers on her lap. 

‘Hold on,’ Robb warns her. ‘Spare me most of the details.’

Margaery’s eyes are gleaming from familiar mischief behind them. ‘I’ll try my best, darling.’

The upturn of his lips, to show he’s alright, strains from the uneasiness of imagining her with other, faceless men. 

‘I got set up by a friend for a blind date once, and I don’t usually allow that, but he was a laugh and I was curious to see where he would take me for dinner, considering the pristine convertible he drove told me that he had some considerable taste.’ Margaery pauses for effect. ‘The man took me to a rugby match, and that was fine, but he wouldn’t stop giving everyone on the team and around us abuse. For the whole night. Even sloshed half of his pint all over my shoes at one point. Let’s see. Another date I was on happened to be with a complete stranger. The nerve of him trying to pick me up while I was berating him for taking my parking spot at my doctor’s office. I must have looked blue in the face yelling at him, until he told me that he was another doctor at the office, and I hadn’t seen his reserved sign. Now, as you know, I detest bad hygiene, and as soon as he got close enough—’

Margaery stops, and something about the way she arches her brows tells him that she’s reading a look on his face. Maybe his uneasiness was showing after all. 

‘I could go on, but I’m sure you wouldn’t figure the lie.’

‘That’s not true…’ He wants to show offence here, but he knows she’s right. She always won this game.

‘What if I just told you a truth then?’ Margaery’s demeanour turns at this. She shifts the arms of her silk blouse up her elbows and then tucks her legs underneath her. Her fingers roam back to her ring, turning and twisting it in place. She’s not looking at him when she tells him, ‘I should be happier than I am right now, but I’m not.’

‘You have everything you’ve ever wanted,’ Robb reasons, and he straightens himself out too, his spine sitting a bit taller. 

Margaery chews at her bottom lip, and she makes no attempt in hiding her frown. ‘You’re right. I have the job, the success, and I’m apparently going to be a married woman. I must be completely mad…’

‘Well, I knew you weren’t exactly happy when you first came back,’ Robb surprises himself by his matter-of-fact tone. The wide-eyed look on her face tells him she’s just as surprised. This isn’t part of their game. No, he decides that he’s not playing coy while they continue to tell each other truths.

‘You got that from—’

‘You came all the way from Stormsend to respond to my letter. You must’ve been going through something because you wouldn’t have dreamed of doing that before. When we were together, you used to make fun of all the _ineffective_ ways I went about things. Like my insisting to meet coworkers for meetings rather than sending emails, doing my banking with a teller instead of using my mobile, and mailing letters…’

To his relief, Margaery laughs at that, so he does too.

‘I thought I had things figured out, I thought I was content. When you have perfected and trained others to be as clever at pretending as you are, you can’t help but believe in your own lies at times. It’s a work hazard for me.’

‘You never pretended with me…’ He almost says this as a question and he doesn’t think he sounds irrationally paranoid here, but he can’t deny the way he hesitates to continue. 

‘You know I didn’t,’ she says decisively. ‘I don’t have to pretend about what’s important to me.’

‘As long as you keep doing that, keep being honest with yourself, then you’ll be fine.’ A part of him knows how hokey this sounds, but he hopes this advice might encourage her to get to the bottom of why she’s brought him here, and why she’s telling him any of these insecurities. 

‘Even though he denies it, I know Loras is in love with Renly, and I always had a feeling that Renly was keeping something from me,’ she says with unexpected calmness. 

He’s thrown by this. He thought he knew the exact words to coax more honesty out of her, but he didn’t expect her to simply confess to anything, and he certainly didn't know this truth was coming. So, to this, he only lamely replies, ‘You got engaged with Renly knowing...’

‘I didn’t know that before we started dating. But, Loras, bless him, told me the truth about them briefly dating before I came into the picture. I was ready to tell both of them off or help Renly come out to his family, but the Baratheons are as conservative as they come.’ Margaery sighs, the first sign of frustration surfacing. ‘I wanted to leave him, but, in the end, Renly told me that he loves me, that he chose me.’

Robb doesn’t quite know what to say despite knowing two things: Margaery, the Margaery he knew, couldn’t possibly believe Renly, so there had to be a reason for her to be engaged with a man she wasn’t truly happy with. 

‘I’ve spent years helping Loras, trying to find solutions for his addictions, getting his image cleaned up for his auditions, and making sure our parents didn’t find out about either of those issues. I’ve spent my whole relationship with Renly on the defence for him, helping him gain respect from his miserable family. And I’ve just tried to hold myself together through it all.’ Margaery sighs again. Then, she quietly admits, ‘So, you’re right. I’m not entirely happy, and I’m not being honest about all of the things that are important to me.’

This confession hits him harder than he expected. They’re the words he selfishly wanted to hear, but they only make his chest feel tight, painful. It seems so surreal to him that, only hours ago, Renly and her new life in Stormsend seemed like a perfect fit, complementary to everything she needed for her ambitions, everything she wanted that he couldn’t compromise with.

Robb tries to inhale evenly before he asks, ‘What would make you happy, Margaery?’

Her doe eyes, locked with his. Her lips, slightly parted. And the narrowing distance between them. Had they been leaning toward each other all along? He’s acutely aware of it all now.

‘After you and I broke up, and I moved away…’ she starts slowly. ‘There were some mornings when I would wake up, and, just for a moment, I would honestly think I’d be in our bed, in our home again. I would hear you fussing over getting up early or the noise outside our window that you always kept open because you know I get too hot during the night. I was happy then.’

Whoever made the first move, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that they both surged toward each other and found themselves entangled with one another again—his hands in her hair, her hands on his chest, and their faces tilted toward each other.

He kisses her first, he’s certain of that, but his mind quickly races past this to wonder if he’s properly remembering how her lips felt. Had they always been this impossibly soft? Did he seem different on her lips? But, most of all, he has an urgent thought, ‘I’ve wanted to do that since the day you came back.’

This makes Margaery move closer still, her mouth moving over his, growing more fervent by the minute. She seems starved. When she’s close enough, flush against him, her push overpowers his pull and she makes him buckle under her weight. The fall surprises them into laughter.

‘Fuck me,’ he grouses through his chuckling, embarrassed.

Her only response is a teasing, cocked brow. 

As he lies on his back, she moves to straddle his hips and dips low to nip at his bottom lip before she kisses him again. Her fingers scrape at the back of his neck, playing with the ends of his curls, and tugging at them as he grinds up against her.

‘I’ve missed you, Robb,’ she breathes. 

‘I’ve missed you t— _ah_ —’ he gasps into her mouth, and momentarily stills when her hand slips between them to palm his growing hardness.

He props himself up by the elbows, taking his mouth off hers to look at her. Her lips are a deep pink, swollen from him. Her pupils are blown out too. He still asks, ‘Is this okay?’

She starts to rip at the buttons of his oxford shirt, keeping eye contact to say, ‘I want you. I always want you.’

He kisses her languidly then, savouring her before he tells her, ‘You have me.’

She undresses, still sitting in his lap. For every piece of clothing she discards, she reveals more and more of her flawless skin, and he swallows thickly as he restrains himself from rushing. 

When he follows suit, tossing his shirt away, he can’t say he feels as graceful as she looked getting undressed, as he’s distracted by her naked body on top of him. Eventually, after his awkward attempts to fully undress, she moves to help him with his trousers and offers, ‘Let me.’

She makes quick work of removing his trousers, that eager smile of hers returning. And when he kicks off his boxer briefs, she firmly straddles him again, with her hand swiftly gliding to his hard cock. He swears he could come undone with the way that she grips and strokes him. 

‘ _Margaery_ ,’ he groans, and can’t help but keep his mouth agape as her hands work over him.

He returns the favour in kind, palming her center, and he finds her already slick to his touch. She gasps when he squeezes her here, and her grip on him tightens. ‘ _Yes_ , touch me,’ she pleads, breathy, as her hips lean into his touch. 

He obliges. With a firm grip on one side of her bucking hips, he takes his free hand to move two fingers toward her slick folds. She is so wet, he realizes, and he groans as he easily sinks his fingers in her. With each push in and out, he relishes the soft moans she releases in time to his thrusting.

‘Gods,’ he bites down hard on his bottom lip, watching her flush and delight from his ministrations. 

Her back suddenly bows, and she drops her head to breathe hotly against his ear, urging him, ‘Please.’

As if the word ignites him to move, he rises and gathers her up, moving her to lie on her back this time. Margaery yelps, thrilled from the sudden change in position, and wraps her legs around him. 

Her burning gaze tells him before she repeats, ‘ _Please_.’

It doesn’t take any more for him to line himself up and finally sink into her. And when he fills her to the hilt, a deep groan comes from the back of his throat while she cries in relief.

‘ _Ngh_ —ah,’ she cries as he slowly moves away and then slowly thrusts back into her. ‘Oh, Robb—feels so _good_.’

He dips his head low to capture her lips and another high-pitched cry, seeking more contact, as if he were greedy for more than just his cock being engulfed by her. He wants her open-mouthed kisses too, he decides. He wants her to keep her hands anchored, tangled in his hair. He wants to feel her everywhere. 

‘ _Fuck_ , _Marge_ ,’ he says among a litany of other curses, feeling her thrusting up to meet his rhythm. 

It’s as if she takes over their pace as she continues to meet his thrusts, wrapping her legs around him, lifting her arse up, and competing to push faster than him. It makes him rise up and slightly kneel to watch her breasts bounce in time with her doubled effort. He can’t take his eyes off how she looks at him either, full of lust through a half-lidded gaze, biting down on her plump lips. Then there’s a visible sheen of sweat in the valley of her chest that he’s also eyeing. For an innumerable amount of reasons, including this moment, she drives him wild.

He can’t last, he thinks, holding her steady by the hips. So, he guides her back down, feeling a familiar heat coil in his stomach. It’s when he kisses her again and feels her lips quiver, that he suspects her reaching orgasm too.

‘Come with me,’ he assumes she’ll agree, resting his forehead against hers. 

‘Go on then, darling,’ comes her shaky reply. Even her smile trembles from exertion.

In response, he nearly slips out before he thrusts back into her, and the sweet sound of her moaning spurs him to an intense, erratic rhythm. A rhythm that she matches again. She can’t help it. His competitive, fiery, lovely Margery. His Margaery. 

As always, he folds to her. It’s her walls that pulse and makes him spill inside her. It’s her last euphoric expression that softens the primal nature in him. No one else could do this to him. Only her. A fear pricks at him then, something he’s ashamed of. Even if she rode the high along with him, even if he has her in his arms now, he’s sure this will only spell trouble for him if she had to leave him again. 

_Stop. Not now, you idiot._ He inwardly chides himself.

So, he tries to ignore his nagging thoughts after they settle down, and moves their clothes to cover their bodies as a makeshift blanket. As they lie on their sides, and he pulls her to his chest, he tries humour to temper his nerves, ‘Were you always this good?’ 

She’s still steadying her breath when she balks and swats him over her shoulder, ‘You brute!’

He easily catches her hand, chuckling before he kisses the inside of her palm. 

‘Watch yourself, Stark. The night is young and I can still ruin you in other ways.’

He’s glad she can’t see the way he takes that obvious joke another way. He knows she can’t see him, and yet his laughter recedes to this.

Margaery shifts in his embrace, quiet as if she were able to read his inner conflict, until she gently says, ‘I was joking.’

Robb recovers, he hopes, by kissing her at the crook of her neck. He assures her, ‘I know.’

She takes the arm that he’s left for her to cradle her head in and curls it closer, her cheek nuzzles against it. It eases him, the way she clearly feels this safe with him, the way she curls up to him like she always had before.

‘Now stop your fussing, and go to sleep with me,’ her order comes out gently too.

This time, she eases him to sleep.

_**tbc** _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Nate Fraust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NateFraust/pseuds/NateFraust) for looking over my writing. We need more Robbaery writers and betas like you out there!
> 
> Thank you for the comments, lovies!
> 
> warnings: light smut ahead.

_'Cause I know that every time you leave, you come home to me  
_ _Come home, come home, come home_

_Come Home to Me -_ _Léon_

**MARGAERY**

Margaery feels at home at Robb’s flat. She notices that there isn’t much that he’s changed about it since she left. In fact, she can still find her way around as if she hadn't been gone for too long at all. Linen is still where she had helped him organize it. Coffee mugs are still stacked in the same cupboard. Greywind’s bed is still by the grey settee that Robb inherited from his mother. However, she is surprised by how many photographs he’s kept of them. Granted, their couple photos are missing, but he’s kept a few of pictures of her in groups of friends or family. It gives her pause to think the worst, that he’s tried to discard memories of her. She knows she doesn't have a right to be upset, and she can’t blame him for wanting to move on while she was gone, but a familiar sting at the centre of her chest returns.

She contemplates this and the other inevitable insecurities that go along with it as she stays a bit longer than usual in the shower. 

When he put her pictures away, did he ever think to resent her? If he had been dating before she returned, did she interrupt him from being with someone that could make him happy? 

Maybe she could be the one to make him happy again.

As she washes away the dust and grime from the faulty elevator they were stuck in overnight, her mind also wanders to more pleasant thoughts, heated ones of Robb and the way they had spent the previous night together. 

Stepping out of the shower, she hears him call out, ‘Pancakes or waffles?’

‘Pancakes, darling!’ Margaery grins and starts to towel dry herself.

After she wraps herself in her towel, she finds a spot at his sink counter to unload the toiletries from her large purse. Her Chanel Vitalumière Aqua, a nameless brow pencil, and a Fresh lip treatment balm fit perfectly between his soap dispenser and hand towels. She smiles to herself as she remembers when her flat mirror tray, which used to sit in the exact same spot she’s currently occupying, held all of her toiletries. He had once asked how she could _‘bloody remember what all of it does’_. 

She tries to bite away a laugh from that memory, when he endearingly wrinkled his nose at her lengthy explanation of her beauty regimen. Then, her reflection flusters even more. The woman in the mirror reminds her of her younger self, a girl at uni trying and failing to compose herself after a boozy, exhilarating night out with Robb, a memory that always brings a smile to her face. So, when she starts to prepare a scant amount of makeup to her face, and can see a blush that blooms through her foundation, she simply accepts that Robb’s taken hold of her heart again. Admittedly, when she thinks of how fiercely she clung to him last night, she’s not sure if he’s ever lost his grip of it. 

He comes through the bathroom as she finishes her dewy, natural look with a stain of deep pink on her lips. She notices that he’s changed into grey sweatpants and a simple, white t-shirt. He makes her want to change into his clothes too, and tuck into his bed to feel as comfy as he looks. She thinks to ask him for a change of clothes, but she’s distracted by a strawberry in his mouth, and it’s only removed when he asks, ‘You still like bananas and strawberries with your pancakes, right?’

‘Of course,’ she replies, mocking offence at the thought of him forgetting.

As he stands behind her, his arms fold at his front, and she eyes the way that his muscles flex involuntarily as he does so. _Gods, he really has filled out,_ she thinks _._ He smiles at her staring at his reflection, but he doesn’t play smug.

‘Coffee or tea?’ He asks, and she doesn’t miss his turn to drink in her half-naked appearance as he waits for a response. 

‘I feel as though you know that I prefer pancakes and that I prefer coffee. Is that all you needed to come in here for?’

‘I couldn’t hear, love,’ he tries to feign innocence, but the way he moves to twirl her around to face him, with his hands lingering on her hips, tells her something else is on his mind.

‘You’re up to something, Robb. You’re looking at me like Andrew was when he rescued us from the lift earlier this morning.’

‘Can’t blame the man…or me.’

The warmth and weight of his grasp feels like he’s anchoring himself to her, resisting to leave. She moves to slick back her long, wet hair, exposing her bare shoulders, and then bites at her bottom lip. 

One of his hands comes up to tuck a wet lock of hair behind her ear and the other offers his half-eaten strawberry just before her lips. ‘Hungry?’

She takes the strawberry in her mouth and hums as she eats it. ‘Starving,’ she says after swallowing, watching his heated eyes staring intently at her lips.

‘I’ve put all the ingredients out, I have your coffee order, but I feel like I’m missing something.’ He ticks off all of this on his fingertips without removing his eyes on her. 

‘What—’

She’s whisked off her feet in an instant, and she yelps as he lifts her up in his arms. The towel wrapped around her starts to unravel.

‘I’m starving too, but I’m not in the mood for pancakes or waffles or coffee or even tea,’ he laughs off her struggling to keep her towel slipping off of her as he moves her out of the bathroom and toward the kitchen. 

When he sits her atop his kitchen island counter, he seems to struggle with stifling his laughter from the way she pouts. 

‘It’s freezing in this kitchen,’ she tells him, wrapping her arms around herself. 

‘Aye, and I can keep you warm, gorgeous,’ he replies, his Northern burr a touch deeper, and he leans in to kiss her. 

She can’t deny him, even in his drafty kitchen, so she kisses him back, inhaling the smell of sandalwood soap on his skin, the same one she used on herself. It’s all very familiar, and helping her bring back memories of them entangled in familiar ways in this kitchen. On this counter.

‘ _Ah_ ,’ she gasps, feeling his hands travelling under her towel. Then, she muffles a high, thready cry at the crook of his neck once his skillful fingers find her slick to his touch. 

‘I could stay in all day to keep you warm,’ he offers and tangles his fingers in her damp hair. His words are made more believable as his kisses continue to delve deeper, his tongue coaxing hers to move alongside his. 

Then, he drops to his knees, while both his hands firmly grip at her hips. With his head between her thighs, she feels a bracing gasp escape her at the thought of what he seems to be planning for her. She feels his stubble grazing the softest part of her inner thighs as his chin nudges her to open up for him. Her towel, slowly peeling away from her, might as well be in their way at this point. 

‘Robb,’ she whispers and forgets about her towel falling away from her altogether. ‘Robb…’

His mouth, on her without hesitation, hums as if he replies to her calling him. Then, suddenly, his tongue relentlessly works at her wet folds.

‘ _Gods_!’ She slams one hand against the granite of his counter and squeezes her eyes shut. 

The heat of his mouth. The grip he now has on the underside of her knees, controlling her from shuddering off the edge of the counter. The way she feels something burgeoning, pulsing at her core. It all makes her think that it will only take a moment longer before…

A blaring phone makes her eyes spring open. Surprisingly, Robb doesn’t seem to notice. It’s his phone that continues to vibrate and ring beside a pile of his belongings next to her, and a name illuminates on its screen. 

‘Sansa!’

Robb comes up for air, looking horrified. ‘Hang on, did you just call out my sister’s name? Were you thinking—’

Margaery nearly barks out in laughter before she brandishes his phone inches away from his face. The comical way he slowly realizes what distracted her makes it easier to come down from the jarring shift of ecstasy to reality. 

‘Oh,’ he sighs, roughly carding his finger through his curls.

Too late, Margaery regrets interrupting Robb and the potential for an incredible orgasm, but she wills herself to remember that she’s still making it up to Sansa. 

‘ _Oh_ is right. We’ve missed your sister's birthday party and we haven’t exactly been honest with our excuses about last night.’

He rises to his feet while bringing up her towel that had fallen by his side so she can clothe herself again. 

‘Shit,’ he curses and pinches at the bridge of his nose. ‘What do we do?’

With a clearer head, Margaery has a few ideas. ‘We could have lunch together. Buy her a meal. I could stop by her flat and sneak out the present I meant to give her too.’

‘And we need a new cake.’ He reminds her of the one they had destroyed.

‘Why don’t we host a small lunch? Just for the people in town who are available. I know that most of your family is busy or might already be on their way back to Winterfell, but, even if Sansa is the only one who can come by, that’d be enough to show how sorry we are.’

‘Here? Yeah, sure, I don’t mind. It’s just…’

She knows what he’s about to say. How would they explain how they got together for these plans? It was already suspicious that Margaery had a last-minute ‘emergency’ to attend to in Stormsend, while Robb had fallen ill on the same night. And if they were to be caught in a lie, were they ready to confess to what happened last night? _They_ hadn’t even spoken about what last night meant for them.

‘I know, darling,’ Margaery says, slipping off the counter to take both of his hands in hers. Peering up at him, she swallows thickly before she tells him, ‘I know it was careless, forcing myself on you, knowing that Renly had just proposed to me. I know it only makes it seem like—’

His hands squeeze hers. ‘I told you, didn’t I? I’ve wanted this since the day you came back, you didn’t force something I’ve wanted all along. I just—what happened last night—I don’t want what happened between us to be…’

‘Just one night.’ 

He readily nods. ‘If we start telling everyone—what if…’

Robb’s pinched expression, one he has whenever he struggles through his emotions, makes her chest feel uncomfortably tight. She can’t stand the thought of him thinking that what happened between them means any less to her. 

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she says firmly, and then wraps her arms around him. She rests her head on his chest and promises, ‘I’ll call Renly tonight, I’ll tell him that I can’t marry him. Then, there won’t be anything stopping us from being together.’

‘Okay,’ he agrees softly. He sighs deeply into her hair as he comes to rest his cheek against her. Hugging her closer, he confesses, ‘I love you, Margaery.’

Her chest swells, and she presses forward even if she can’t possibly get any closer to him. ‘I love you too.’

‘So,’ he starts with a weak chuckle, ‘what are we doing now?’ 

She raises her head and patiently explains, ‘After a quick breakfast, I’ll need you to host Sansa’s birthday lunch here. I’ll also need a cake and her present. If anyone pries about our whereabouts last night, they’ll just have to wait a bit longer to find out what really happened between us.’

He winces dramatically, ‘I mean, we shouldn’t be sharing _all_ the details, least of all to my sister.’

‘Of course,’ she concedes, affectionately rolling her eyes at him. ‘Now, let's get started.’

* * *

‘Gods, it’s freezing out there!’ Margaery declares when she returns to Robb’s flat, shivering off snowflakes from her coat. ‘And busy. All the last-minute Christmas shopping is making everyone go mad out there.’

Greywind bolts toward Margaery, happily yipping at her arrival. Luckily, Robb rushes up to help her from being toppled over by the overly excited husky. 

‘Someone’s awake from their nap.’ Margaery hands off her shopping to Robb, and saves the peanut butter covered treats she found on her way back from a nearby farmer’s market. ‘Thas’ a good boy,’ she praises, dropping to her knees to make Greywind sit and calm down before letting him take the treat.

‘Grey, stop.’ Robb admonishes Greywind for licking Margaery’s face all over. ‘He’s missed you.’

‘And I missed you,’ she giggles as she scratches at the back of Greywind’s ears, giving him one last treat from her pocket. Greywind, expectantly looking for more food, only pads away when Margaery gets up to remove her coat and boots to follow Robb into the kitchen. 

‘Did you buy the entire shop, Marge?’ Robb unloads her bags full of groceries and things on the kitchen counter, taking out groceries, Sansa’s cake, some decorations, Sansa’s neatly wrapped birthday present, and even more groceries. ‘I thought we were only ordering from the curry shop.’

‘Yes, but, darling, you have an empty pantry. I couldn't resist.’

‘Of course, you couldn’t,’ he chuckles lightly, ‘thank you.’

‘Oh!’ Margaery exclaims as she reads her phone’s screen. ‘Sansa’s nearly here. The food is on its way, right?

‘It’s sorted. It’ll probably be here just before she arrives.’

Margaery nearly pounces on the newly bought birthday banner and streamers, then directs Robb to find tape or anything to plaster the decorations to the back wall of the dining area. 

As Robb helps her stretch the banner across his wall, he smirks. ‘Are you and Sansa in a fight? I haven’t seen you this eager to please her since she found out that you took Yara’s side of an argument at uni. What was it about again?’

‘Leggings are not trousers. She wore them everywhere for nearly two weeks after her break up with Ramsay,’ Margaery grumbles. ‘We’re not in a fight. We just—she was upset that I left so abruptly after our breakup, especially because I never said goodbye to her. I want to show her that I’m still very much a part of her life.’

Margaery bites at her bottom lip as she locks eyes with him, conscious of the way she’s dredging up uncomfortable memories. She wishes she didn’t always have to bring up that memory in particular. 

Robb gives her a small, sympathetic smile, ‘You’ll always be part of our life. Always.’

As if that settles it, Margaery nods appreciatively. 

Sansa and Theon arrive together at half-past twelve, the only two available for Margaery’s invitation to an impromptu birthday lunch for Sansa. From the blushing reaction she gets out of Sansa, one Margaery gets out of her from discreetly gesturing toward Theon, she’s sure her friend is aware of an unspoken insinuation. 

‘ _Leave it_ , Marge,‘ Sansa furiously whispers to her as Robb and Theon move past them, and that reaction only confirms that their late-night discussions about Theon and Sansa’s more-than-friendly feelings for him haven’t been dealt with yet. 

‘Y’arite, Greyjoy?’ Robb claps a hand on Theon’s shoulder, then gestures for him to give him his coat before entering the living room area. ‘I hear the birthday party was actually brilliant. Well done, again.’

‘Ta,’ Theon thanks him, ‘but you keep saying it like it’s a surprise to you.’ He huffs as he takes a seat on the grey settee. 

‘I’m only having a laugh.’ Robb rolls his eyes.

Greywind, seemingly roused by familiar voices, emerges from Robb’s bedroom to jump on top of Theon’s lap. ‘You mangy— _oi_ —Grey, have you gotten bigger?’ Theon asks, groaning at Greywind’s reply of sloppy licking. 

‘Are you feeling better, Robb?’ Sansa asks from the kitchen, where she helps Margaery gather their curry dishes. ‘Mum was saying that you mentioned a stomach bug before my party last night.’

Margaery gives him an encouraging look, one she hopes helps him get over his insecurity of being terrible at lying. 

‘Oh,’ Robb starts, shrugging and not meeting his sister’s eye. ‘It must have been a 24-hour thing. I feel much better today.’

‘It’s lucky that Margaery was able to help organize all of this. She never mentioned how she got you involved though…’ Sansa trails off, and Margaery can’t say that Robb is doing well in training his features to remain impassive for his sister. In fact, Margaery tries to avoid Robb’s eyeline this time, so he doesn’t feel too much scrutiny on him. 

Theon distracts them with a timely guffaw as he points at the birthday banner starting to peel off the wall. 

‘Awww,’ Sansa reacts sympathetically, ‘I love the effort, Marge, but I haven’t had a celebratory banner since I was fourteen. Don’t worry about it.’

Margaery titters with her as they bring the dishes and drinks over to the dining table, and some of her laughter comes from Robb looking thoroughly relieved at dodging Sansa’s question. 

‘I’m supposed to be the hopeless one with all of this.’ Theon gives Robb a smug smile, only to suppress it when Greywind leaps off his lap, launching straight off his crotch. 

‘Grey…’ Robb hardly tries to reprimand him as he snorts out a laugh from Theon cursing at his dog.

Their lunch goes well, with much of the lively energy owed to the excitement of reuniting and reminiscing. They talk about work and the festivities from last night, but mostly find themselves bringing up memories of their past. And because most of these memories take the piss out of Theon or bring them to teary-eyed laughter about another thing entirely, Margaery hardly keeps track of the increasing amount of wine refills they share between them and the way Sansa’s showing that she’s close to her cut off point. 

Sansa’s face is bright pink, and her eyes look slightly drowsy when she announces, ‘More please!’ 

Margaery watches as her friend takes on her fourth or fifth glass, and then Sansa points to her with an accusatory finger. Although this gesture might have meant to intimidate her, Margaery only cocks an amused brow at her. 

‘What? What’s this about,’ Margaery asks, giggling.

‘As long as this one doesn’t start with another embarrassing story about me, I’ll be glad to hear something about Marge this time,’ Theon says, thumping his chest to expel a raucous burp before he continues to drink from his wine glass.

‘You’re not wearing your engagement ring.’ Sansa’s eyes stretch as wide as saucers, and she clamps her mouth with both hands as if she didn’t mean to splutter that out loud. But she continues, ‘I saw Renly post about your engagement, and the massive rock you were wearing—where is it?’

Robb looks through to the bottom of his beer bottle as soon as Margaery shoots a furtive glance his way. He doesn’t lift his eyes up, as if he were the one trying to dodge another prying question.

Sansa looks guiltily on as if she didn’t mean what she said, or maybe she looks hopeful as she waits for another explanation altogether. Maybe both her and Theon still have wishful thoughts about some sort of ‘Robb’ explanation. 

Regardless of all of that, Margaery attempts to cut the rising tension amongst them in half. ‘I’ve got it!’ She exclaims. 

As luck would have it, Margaery pulls the ring from deep out of her pocket and then slides it back on her ring finger. She chances a glance at Robb again, but he’s still resolutely looking away, drinking silently from his beer bottle. 

‘I was helping Robb wash up some dishes. I must’ve forgotten that I had put it away. I wouldn’t want to lose it, of course.’

‘Can’t miss a massive thing like that.’ Theon makes a face as he scoffs, and then proceeds to finish the rest of the poppadoms platter. His crunchy chewing is grating over the silence that surrounds them. 

‘Oh,’ Sansa says, and recovers with a smile that looks more like a curious frown. ‘It’s lovely.’

‘Thanks, it is,’ Margaery agrees and wills herself to look pleased, but she can feel her stomach turning from worrying over how Robb must feel at the moment. 

From Sansa’s guilty looks carrying on, Margaery assumes a new topic of discussion would be graciously welcomed, though Theon beats her to this task.

‘Just don’t start a family any time soon because then we can’t be doing things like this, like getting pissed by midday with friends or having any free time at all.’ Theon bites into the last poppadom and winks at Margaery.

‘Oh, absolutely not. I’m not even thinking about that at the moment. It won’t be happening any time soon,’ Margaery hurriedly assures him.

‘I don’t know,’ Robb finally speaks up. ‘I imagine if you’re happy with your career, and if you’re happily married, it’s only natural to think about that.’

Margaery turns to him and stops herself from reaching for her glass of wine. He’s looking directly at her this time, and she can’t tell if his cheeks are red from the alcohol (a common Stark attribute) or if he’s fuming over something. If it had to do with the latter, she could only brace herself for the worst. 

_Don’t. Don’t do it._ Margaery attempts to inwardly coach herself. 

‘What if there’s another opportunity at work?’ Margaery couldn’t help it.

Robb’s eyes narrow slightly. ‘Aren’t you starting a new business in Kingsland to be your own boss? How could you possibly move up from being head of your own company?’

‘Expanding?’ Margaery crosses her arms.

‘Hypothetically speaking,’ Robb says, and it’s completely clear to her now that he’s alluding to their relationship, ‘if you’ve been married for a year to _Renly_ , you’re saying there might be a chance that you’ll not want children? Or maybe you’ll change your mind again, and want another job.’

‘It wouldn’t be another job, it’d be expanding the business.’

‘If you’re talking about expanding with another firm, it just sounds like more responsibility. In other words, another job to look after. It’s all the same.’ 

‘And I never said I didn’t want children.’

‘Robb,’ Sansa manages to cut in, reminding her brother and Margaery of two other people in the room. ‘Can we—’

‘What if _Renly_ wants you to think about it soon?’ Robb persistently pursues the conversation, ignoring Sansa.

‘Then I’d tell him…’ Margaery can’t believe she’s speaking about _Renly_ while coding her messages for Robb. ‘I’d tell him that this is who I am and that he knew that before our engagement.’

Robb eyes her engagement ring and doesn’t look up from it. Hesitantly, he says, ‘I thought things would be different this time around.’

‘ _Robb_ ,’ Margaery starts gently, but she pauses to think, mulling over words she’s not sure are there.

‘Well,’ Theon finds his chance to interject too, ‘This has been nice, Robb. Marge. But I think Sansa and I need to go. Sansa, didn’t you need to get to that thing? That thing with—’

‘Right!’ Sansa exclaims. ‘Theon and I have to catch the bus. Theon’s helping with a thing I have to get to—’

‘Sansa’s going to her doctor because she thinks she’s got a UTI,’ Theon winces as he blurts it out.

‘ _THEON_ ,’ Sansa seethes, whipping her head to face him. Furiously flushing, she turns to let Robb and Margaery know through gritted teeth, ‘Theon... is right. So, erm, we’ll be heading out now. Wouldn’t want to miss _that_ appointment.’

Robb and Margaery exchange a knowing look, and the tension between them eases as they finally acknowledge the awkward position they’ve put Theon and Sansa in. 

A switch somehow flips from this realization and they reject the obvious fake doctor’s appointment, offering a chance to completely move on from their interruption instead. ‘Oh, it’s nothing, it’s the alcohol,’ Margaery tries to reason. 

But as Theon and Sansa start getting up, it’s clear to everyone that they’ve started to sober up considerably.

‘Mate,’ Robb vaguely gestures for Theon to reconsider leaving when they’re at his doorway, but Theon has already got his coat on and offers to call him later.

‘It’s okay,’ Sansa tells Margaery when she puts her own coat on. ‘And the lunch was lovely, really. I’ll see you later.’

Margaery gives in, nodding quietly as she hugs both Sansa and Theon before they leave. 

As soon as the door closes, Margaery realizes that she should’ve fought harder for them to stay, especially with the way Robb stares after her now. Even as she walks away, she feels his eyes tracking her to the dining table while she starts to tidy up. And when he moves to help her, she feels an uncomfortable heat spreading along her neck whenever he steals meaningful looks her way. 

After she loads the last set of dishes in his dishwasher, she pockets Renly’s ring and attempts to approach their inevitable discussion with deliberate directness. ‘Robb, do you think that I’m still being selfish? I know I’m bringing up a year old fight, but why do I get the feeling that you’re still upset with me?’ 

Robb finishes towelling off the table. He folds the washcloth in his hands and tosses it on the kitchen counter to start cleaning its surface too. He seems to be stalling or trying his best to not say something he’s clearly troubling over.

‘Robb…talk to me.’ 

‘I meant what I said earlier. I thought that us being together this time around would be different. I thought we could finally pick up from where we left off,’ he says, his eyes fixed on the granite countertop he’s wiping down.

When she turns on the dishwasher, she leans up against it, crossing her arms to her chest.

How could they have missed this? There was no mistaking that they both sorely missed each other, that they both still deeply loved each other, and that there would always be an undeniable weakness they’d have for one another. A year apart hadn’t changed that, and she’s certain that she’d never lose those feelings for him. 

_But what about this_? She struggles to question herself. 

_This_ was Robb’s idea of how their life together should be. For him, this would be settling down and starting a family. For her, this would be wanting the same things he wanted. She’s always thought that, but why couldn’t he see that she could have both: children and a flourishing business? 

This was the reason they had broken up in the first place, never finding the middle ground between their opposing beliefs. This, she realizes, was the discussion that should’ve occurred before they had gotten trapped in an elevator with only their impulses and pent up desires to distract them.

‘Robb,’ she tries gently, and this finally coaxes him to look up at her. ‘I’ve wanted to marry you since before we even started talking about it. I want to be the mother of your children.’

‘But you want it all, Marge,’ Robb struggles to say this after her admission only seems to cause him pain, with his pinched expression returning. ‘What if this new business isn’t enough for you? What if it means that you’ll have to take on more responsibilities, more work. We’re both working professionals who would struggle to start a family, let alone raise one. How much more difficult would it be if we were never home? I grew up with my mum working herself to the bone, and I barely saw her. I helped her take care of my brothers and sisters and I have never resented her for that, but, _Gods_ , it was hard. I never want my children to feel the way I did.’

Margaery watches him, imagining him working through these memories, watching his jaw clenching in silence.

‘I shouldn’t have made you feel like you were being selfish,’ he says earnestly, ‘because I know that you deserve everything you’ve worked for. It took me a while to get past my pride and see that, but I understand you now. In fact, you’ve always been this way. Even before me, you’ve never needed anyone, and that’s fine. The problem is... _I_ need someone.’

She wants to argue this until she’s breathless. She wants to tell him that the only thing that stopped them from being together was his stubborn pride, and hers too. She wants to tell him that he finally understands her motivations now. She wants to tell him that she’s still not leaving his side. Then, it dawns on her.

What if it still wasn’t enough? What if she couldn’t be that someone for him? What if they tried, and she failed him? 

‘Darling,’ she says and crosses the distance between them to place her hands over his. She feels his grip on the washcloth loosen. ‘I...don't know what to say.’

Robb nods sadly. ‘Neither do I.’

His phone interrupts them a second time today. He apologizes, but then hers starts to trill and distract her too. 

‘Sansa—it’s not a good time—What about mum?’ He answers his phone, puzzled. 

‘Cersei, strange that you’re calling on a Sunday. Something must be wrong—sorry, it’s just work.’ Margaery answers her phone too, gesturing for Robb to wait.

She notices Robb’s face fall. ‘Hospital? Why? What’s happened?’ 

Margaery excuses herself from her call, waiting for him to finish talking on his phone. 

It takes a few minutes more, and a few more apologies for Cersei to stay on the line, but he finally ends his phone call. ‘Sansa says mum’s at hospital. She’s stable, but she's recovering from a fall from work.’

‘Oh Gods, I’m sorry.’

Then, she tells him to wait so she can tell Cersei to call her back, but there is something about the way he looks at her that makes her hesitate. He’s unreadable as he calmly says, ‘No, it’s fine. Take your call. I can go now, and I’ll leave you my keys to lock up. Erm—maybe you can stop by later.’

‘Robb—’

‘I’m going to get going,’ he says briskly, without looking at her to gather his car keys, place his flat’s keys in her hand, and bound to the clothes rack near his bedroom to drape a coat over his shoulder. 

‘Robb—’

‘Maybe later, okay?’

When he reaches the door, she wonders for a moment if he stops to apologize, but he only glances back at her once before he shuts the door behind him. 

Bringing her back to attention is Cersei’s annoyed huffing on the other side of her phone line.

Margaery wants to be happy for Cersei when she finally hears the reason for Cersei’s call, for the fact that she won the custody battle, and that Margaery's efforts made the difference. But she hears the hollowness of her own voice as she speaks, and it’s clear where her mind is instead of congratulating Cersei. ‘Wonderful news, Cersei. Of course. You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help.’

* * *

As she steps foot in Kingsland Hospital, Margaery’s phone starts to ring. 

The hospital restrooms are chilly. They don’t help Margaery from shivering and committing to answering Renly’s phone call with her trembling fingers, but she manages. She could also attribute her hesitation to the secrets she’s been keeping from him.

‘Hello, lovely,’ comes Renly’s cheery voice over the line. 

‘Renly, hi,’ she answers, trying to affect his tone.

‘How is everything? How’s Cersei? I can’t wait until you’re home next week. I was just catching up with your brother and he’d like to see us when he comes down for New Year’s—’

‘Renly, you need to come back to Kingsland. I have to speak to you, or I can come back home and speak to you then. It’s important.’ Margaery tells him without thinking to feel guilty about how bright Renly’s mood seems. In the end, she would have to be sympathetic, but she couldn’t be timid about telling him the truth. ‘Please.’

‘Margaery, you know I have several meetings this week before Christmas, and I’m expected to be in Dorne this weekend for business. I’m sorry, I thought we talked about this.’

‘Renly, I need—’ 

‘Lovely, I know it’s hard to be away from each other when we’ve just gotten engaged, but we have our whole lives to look forward to. I promise.’

‘What if I told you that I couldn’t come back to Stormsend?’

‘Well...if you need more time away to set up the business, I understand. We’ll just have to do our best with all this time apart, won’t we?’

Margaery balls up her free hand into a fist. As supportive as Renly has been to allow her to be in Kingsland for so long, to allow her to pursue all of her endeavours, and, to an extent, allow her to feel boundless, it never felt quite right. Now, she admits, she’s never allowed herself to be suspicious of his carefree, guiltless attitude toward her. Or maybe she never cared enough to question it.

In fact, when she needed him, when she expected hard truths or even for him to raise his voice at her, he simply wasn’t capable of it. He certainly wasn’t capable of respecting her enough to tell her about his relationship with Loras until he was found out. She wonders what he _is_ capable of. A dark thought about other secrets he might be keeping surfaces from where it had been gnawing at the back of her mind. 

‘Listen, Loras was saying that when he visits there’s a brunch spot you’d just—’ 

‘I slept with Robb,’ she cuts in, with her heart hammering away in her chest. 

For a moment it sounds as if Renly had hung up on her because of his long silence.

‘Renly?’

Renly clicks his tongue over the phone line, and takes his time to answer in an even tone, ‘That’s...unfortunate.’

‘Unfortunate?’ She wants to be baffled by his calm reaction, but a part of her seems unphased by him as well.

‘No, no, it’s—I can’t say I’m surprised. I am disappointed though.’ 

‘I’m sorry, Renly. It was an awful thing to do.’ Margaery says quietly, and she does feel the weight of her confession. To do this to anyone would be heartless. ‘I do care about you, and I should have told you from the beginning...I don’t think I ever got over him.’

As if Renly knew all along, he replies, ‘No, you never did. I always knew, but I don’t think you really understood that until you left me.’ 

‘You knew—’

‘That you weren’t just visiting Sansa and that you didn’t just accept a job position at Robb’s hospital by sheer luck?’ Renly is still even-toned through his sarcasm. 

‘Right.’

To be fair to him, she shouldn’t expect passion here. He shouldn’t be expected to yell or to fight for her. It’s clearer to her now that he was always saving that for something or someone else.

‘If you knew all along, why did you ask me to marry you?’ Margaery asks. 

‘I don’t know,’ Renly suddenly bursts with awkward laughter, ‘I genuinely thought it would cheer you up.’

‘That’s mad,’ she says and lets out her own nervous puff of laughter.

‘You’re the mad one for accepting my proposal.’

‘Renly…’

‘You left me for a random trip to see _Sansa_ , then you accepted a month-long job from my mad sister-in-law, and on top of it all your lack of talking about Robb meant you were completely miserable about him.’ With his chuckling subsiding, he adds, ‘I thought maybe you could use help moving on…I thought I could help.’

Renly cares about her in his own way, she realizes. ‘I’m sorry for all of this, and I’m sorry I can’t marry you,’ she says.

‘Just as well.’ 

As another bout of silence settles between them, Margaery prepares herself for the last blow to their relationship, something she couldn’t help but feel callous to ask about at this point. ‘Renly. The building for my firm. We both have equity in that building. I’m sorry for bringing it up, and I understand if you want to pull out now. But if you wait until a few months from now, I’m sure I can raise enough funds to pay your share back.’

‘Margaery, leave it,’ he assures her, ‘I promise we’ll talk about that when you’re ready to come back to Stormsend. You will be coming back for your things, won’t you?’

‘Oh yes, and to organize my things to move…’

‘Right. Uh,’ Renly clicks his tongue again. ‘Well...we’ll talk then.’

‘Thank you, darling,’ she sighs in relief, though she regrets not being there to embrace him. When she does eventually return to their home, she promises herself to properly look him in the eye to apologize for not having this discussion in person.

* * *

When she reaches the hospital floor Sansa instructed her to find, Margaery asks the first nurse she sees to point her in the direction of Catelyn’s room.

‘They’re in room 403,’ a young nurse tells her, and compliments Margaery, ‘Oh, those are lovely.’ 

‘Thanks,’ Margaery beams, looking down at her bouquet of sunflowers proudly. ‘They’re her favourite.’

‘Margaery, you made it!’ Sansa jogs up to her from the opposite end of the corridor. She loops an arm around Margaery’s. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about earlier at lunch. I didn’t know what I was saying. I should’ve cut myself off at my second glass of Merlot.’

‘It’s fine, really,’ she says, and Margaery pats her friend’s arm.

‘But I saw the look between you and Robb. I obviously brought up a sore spot between you two.’

For as long as she’s lived at Sansa’s for her temporary job in Kingsland, Margaery always meant to go into more detail about her break up with Robb, but only when she felt less than miserable to bring up old memories for the sake of Sansa’s curiosity. To date, she’s only told Sansa that they had ongoing arguments about their opposing schedules and her late nights at work before they broke up. She even mentioned her last night with Robb, and how there were hurtful things said that led her to leave, but she never told Sansa about their insecurities about raising a family.

And how could Margaery bring that up to Sansa? The Starks were practically a model for a tight-knit, solid family. It almost felt like she was letting down more than Robb, she might as well be letting down their entire family.

‘I,’ Margaery starts slowly, still wary of keeping her whereabouts from last night a secret. ‘I think Robb and I are trying our best to be civil toward each other considering my engagement to Renly, but it’s not that easy.’

‘I see,’ Sansa says, seemingly unconvinced. It was suspicious that Sansa hadn’t questioned Margaery’s last-minute absence from her birthday party. And if Robb and Margaery weren’t making it more obvious about hiding something at lunch, Sansa certainly had to have an inkling by now. 

Except, Sansa doesn’t say a word of that as they draw closer to Catelyn’s room. She doesn’t even say anything about Margaery’s bare ring finger.

‘Those are nice,’ Sansa points to the sunflowers in her hands, ‘Mum loves those.’ 

‘She does,’ Robb says, meeting them just outside Catelyn’s room. ‘Thanks for coming, Marge.’

Margaery weakly smiles up at him and she can tell his own smile seems just as frail. 

‘She’s actually just taking a nap at the moment. The doctors say that she’ll be fine. She’s only showing some minor symptoms of a concussion. They’ll just need her to stay until the morning to rule out any complications,’ he tells them, gesturing to Sansa. ‘Rickon and Bran need you for a moment, do you mind?’

As Sansa moves past Robb to enter the room, Margaery stares after her, watching her join Bran, Rickon, and Arya as they surround Catelyn’s bed. Watching Robb’s siblings huddled close, talking amongst themselves or busying themselves by fixing Catelyn’s blanket or tidying her room makes her heartache. It occurs to her that what hurts is the fact that she should be there with them now.

She shouldn’t feel like something is stopping her or feel guilty about her conflicted feelings about being here for Robb. 

‘Marge, is something wrong?’ Robb brings her back from her thoughts, ‘Come in.’

More importantly, Robb deserved someone who didn’t feel conflicted at all. She couldn’t be that someone for him right now, and she couldn’t be that someone for his family either.

‘I’m glad your mum’s doing well. I’m sorry I was late.’ 

‘Don’t worry about that, just come in.’

Robb’s second attempt to invite her doesn’t help her move though. It’s as if she’s stuck, her nerves somehow the cause for rooting her to the spot. ‘I don’t want to fight or make things awkward around your family, not when they need you. So, I... think the best thing is for you to not be distracted by our problems right now. We could talk about _us_ when things settle down. Until then, I’ll be at Sansa’s.’

Robb seems to contemplate her words as if she was explaining fair terms, and it is a surprise that he’s not rashly reacting to them considering his stormy mood from earlier. ‘I think you’re right,’ he finally agrees, and his mouth recedes inward to form a tight line. ‘I know Arya would give us grief you didn’t explain why you’re here.’

‘Still hates me.’ Margaery weakly smirks. On any other occasion, the reminder of Arya’s protective, mean streak would tickle her, but today it just hurts. 

‘She doesn’t hate you.’ Robb shakes his head. 

‘Cersei’s told me that I’m done at the hospital,’ she tells him. 

‘So, that means you head back before Christmas.’ He’s obviously realizing their dwindling days together as she begins to count them too. Robb drops his head and crosses his arms against his chest. ‘Back to Renly.’

‘No,’ she denies straight away, shaking her head. ‘Not back to Renly. Just back to Stormsend until I figure out what to do. I still have ties to both towns for work.’

Robb nods and, when he lifts his head up, there’s something that flickers, something that brightens behind his eyes to hear her confirm ending things with Renly. 

‘Here.’ She pushes the bouquet toward him, and he takes them from her. 

‘Thanks ag—’

She interrupts him from repeating himself, tiptoeing and kissing him gently on his cheek. He inhales shakily at this, and it makes her lips linger there for a bit longer. 

When she moves away, she can see his eyes are welling up. It makes it harder to tell him, ‘Bye for now.’ 

He nods and blinks, a tear trailing down his cheek. ‘Bye.’

_**tbc** _


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Not a new chapter.
> 
> 2) An update: still finishing my next chapter, chapter 7 in Sansa's POV. 
> 
> 3) In the mean time, please enjoy the social media graphics I made. They're all based on what's happened so far with the characters.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Once again, thank you to the generous [Nate Fraust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NateFraust/pseuds/NateFraust) for the time and effort to beta this newest chapter.
> 
> 2) Also, thanks to [Kristin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourtoxic_valentine/pseuds/yourtoxic_valentine) for taking your time to give your two cents about this chapter too!
> 
> 3) As always, I really appreciate the kudos and comments that you leave. Thank you =)

__

_If I'm frightened, if I'm high_   
_It's my weakness please forgive it_   
_At least I hold on when I get love_   
_And I let go when I give it, give it, give it_

_Hold On When You Get Love - Stars_

**SANSA**

Margaery is sitting in the middle of Sansa’s living room, crowding herself with throw pillows, watching a weepy soap opera, and tenderly cradling a pint of double fudge chocolate ice cream when Sansa finds her.

After coming back home from her midnight shift at the hospital, and helping her mum settle back into her own flat, finding Margaery completely engrossed by a melodramatic couple on her TV screen leaves Sansa feeling a bit overwhelmed. It’s all very _much_. Too much for eight in the morning. 

Though Margaery has found her in more tragic states than this in the past. 

Margaery mouths a spoonful of chocolate ice cream, and then she starts digging for another scoop in the pint tub in her lap. ‘Don’t mind me,’ she says dully.

Sansa feels like she should fear the worst, but Margaery looks more subdued than depressed. She isn’t bothered by her hair being in a messy bun or leaving her face make-up free. It’s not that she looks awful or devastated, but it’s the fact that she doesn’t look quite like herself that bothers Sansa the most. Then, it occurs to her that Margaery might have had some teary-eyed moments after she left Robb’s side at the hospital yesterday. Maybe Margaery had cried herself out by now. 

Sansa bites at her bottom lip, guiltily wondering if she should have pressed her offer to call in sick for work last night. ‘Did you sleep alright?’ 

Margaery finally lifts her eyes up, and Sansa can see some puffiness around her eyes. ‘Well enough.’

Sansa doesn’t need a long appraising look to decide that her day off would be spent taking care of Margaery. 

After quickly hanging up her work bag and exchanging her scrubs for a simple set of pajamas from her bedroom, she notices something else as she returns to her friend’s side. ‘Marge…’ she starts. She realizes that Margaery isn’t just wearing an old uni jumper. ‘Leggings, huh.’ 

Margaery shrugs again, eyes fixated on the TV screen. ‘I regret to say that I finally understand the appeal,’ she sighs. 

Sansa offers an unintentionally loud and stilted laugh as she joins her, sitting cross-legged and nudging her to share the ice cream. 

When the woman on the TV starts to sob at something her onscreen boyfriend says, something utterly cringe-worthy, Sansa turns to Margaery, expecting to see her scoffing. 

‘Tragic. Rubbish acting, too.’ Margaery’s dismissive comment doesn’t match her pained expression, or the fact that her eyes are welling up. 

As the end credits start, Sansa starts to wring at her wrists. 

‘Margaery,’ Sansa begins carefully, watching as her friend, a normally skeptical woman, shed a few tears. ‘Marge...the movie’s over. Are you genuinely crying about a toilet paper advert?’

Margaery wipes her face dry. ‘The little girl finally got the attention she wanted from her mum,’ she says between her sniffling.

Sansa reaches for her remote and turns off the TV, ignoring her friend’s alarmed protesting.

‘Marge, you’re not wearing your engagement ring again and my brother barely said a word when we were at the hospital last night. Talk to me,’ Sansa says firmly. She had been suspecting something was off since her birthday party, and the awkward lunch at Robb’s was just further proof of that. 

‘How’s your mum?’ Margaery asks, wide-eyed.

‘Oh, everything was ruled out. Just a nasty bump on the head. She’s completely fine, luckily,’ she says gratefully, ‘but Robb and I have decided to check on her in the next few days in case she goes back to work too early.’

‘Thank the gods,’ Margaery sighs in relief. 

‘Yes, of course…’

Then, Sansa clears her throat, expectantly eyeing Margaery.

Margaery starts to open her mouth, a soundless act. And, for a moment, her thoughtful pause looks encouraging, but then she closes her mouth again.

‘Marge… your engagement ring is missing… my brother is acting funny...’ Sansa figures stating facts she’s seen herself might deter any lies. 

‘It’s complicated,’ Margaery manages to admit. 

‘I would think the same thing if I was marrying someone I wasn’t in love with, too.’

Margaery’s pursed lips twitch to the side. 

‘Something happened between you and Renly, and something _definitely_ happened between you and Robb,’ Sansa says. ‘There is no way you’d be at Robb’s yesterday without there being something. And don’t get me started on the way he started kicking off about your hypothetical family plans with Renly. What I don’t understand is why Robb would be so angry about any of that if both of you are clearly still in love with each other.’

Margaery puts the ice cream to her side, and then exhales soundly before she replies, ‘As much I love your brother, I’m not sure us getting back together would make him happy.’

Sansa is overwhelmed again. This time, she’s frustrated over the facts.

‘That’s mental. I’ve never seen him happier than when you two are together. He’s loved you for so long, and even when you left…’ Sansa trails off when she sees the way Margaery averts her gaze at that. ‘Why wouldn't coming back to be with him make him happy? It just doesn’t make any sense.’

‘That’s why it’s complicated. It should make sense, but it just doesn’t with our circumstances. It’s just how it is and,’ Margaery pauses, and then quietly continues, ‘I might not be the right person for him.’

‘Bullshit.’ Sansa is just as surprised at her outburst as Margaery looks, but she pushes through. ‘I can’t believe you think that. It’s utter shite and you know it!’

‘I know he doesn’t want to be disappointed again,’ Margaery says patiently. ‘When we were first together, I made promises I couldn’t keep. I told him that after we got married, we’d start a family. We barely started making those plans when I got my first internship. As I was working late nights and gaining more traction with my job, I wanted more. And while Robb was working on his residency at the hospital, I continued getting busier and busier. We eventually started seeing less of each other. Then, I was offered a job in Stormsend.’

‘I remember,’ Sansa mutters in realization. The timeline after the announcement suddenly became clearer. ‘I stupidly thought you’d got into a fight over that and would’ve got back together right away. I didn’t know it would lead to this…’

‘He was so devastated when I told him, and I nearly turned down that job. Near the end... I’ll admit I was reckless after our last fight. He told me I was being selfish for wanting to change all of our plans for my ambition, and I...as you know...left.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sansa says, finally feeling the weight of that confession pushing any of her arguments down.

‘It’s fine. It’s in the past now.’

That gives Sansa hope though. If Margaery believed that, couldn’t there be a chance that things had changed since then? Couldn’t they talk this through?

Determined, Sansa presses, ‘But you came back. Doesn’t a part of you _want_ this to work as much as he does? Enough to make you fight for each other?’ 

She watches Margaery contemplate over this. Her hands pull her knees toward her chest and her head bows. ‘I can’t take breaking any more promises or breaking his heart. Not again.’

‘You know that I get scared too.’

‘I’m not _scared_. I’m trying to be practical so it saves Robb the grief.’

‘You’re scared.’ Sansa doesn’t let her get away with it. ‘I’ve been terrified to tell Theon how I feel, thinking that it would somehow ruin everything. And it might. I might not ever be able to look him in the face if I ever tell him. I might have to find a new hospital to work at.’

‘This is helping...how?’

‘Point is, maybe we’re both too scared to fight for something we don’t realize is too important to ignore.’ Her heart quickens to say these words, imagining Theon and a multitude of reactions he’d give her from confessing her feelings. ‘We’re both clearly doing mad things to avoid what we really need to be doing to be happy—you’re avoiding the fact that you came back to Kingsland to be with Robb and I set up a list of rules about my friendship with Theon.’

Margaery appears to understand, nodding and tearing up again—

Until she abruptly gapes at her. ‘Excuse me? A list?’ 

Reluctantly, Sansa pulls up the list of rules between her and Theon on her phone, grimacing as she passes it over to her.

‘Oh,’ Margaery starts, making a face. ‘Darling…oh, and I see both of you are _still_ scheming against my wishes.’

‘We’re not!’ Sansa sits up straighter. ‘I promise it was always a plan, and you know how it all turned out in the beginning, but then we decided to tell you and Robb that we’ve just been hanging out more as friends instead of hiding that fact.’

‘Right...’ Margaery seems to be in disbelief over the list of rules, still staring at the phone screen.

‘But then you and Robb were distracted at the Christmas do, and then you two got distracted by Loras. Then we decided to come clean at my birthday lunch at Robb’s, but then…’

‘I see.’ 

‘Are you—’

‘Trying to decide between being cross or livid?’ Margaery gives her a teasing look, and it seems like some part of her is trying to lift her own spirits. ‘I mean, I _could_ use this list to blackmail you at some point in time.’ 

‘Marge…’

‘Thank you...for listening. For understanding this... _mental_ life of mine.’

‘Of course, and, regardless of the blackmailing threat, I’m happy to tell you,’ Sansa takes a deep breath, ‘I’m going to tell Theon how I feel because of you.’

‘ _Me?_ ’

Sansa nods, knowing that now that she’s said it, she can’t take it back. She’s not even quite sure where the impulse to declare this is coming from. Maybe it’s been building to this. Maybe it’s from watching Margaery’s despair. Guilt strikes Sansa as she hopes she won’t feel the same way after she tells Theon.

‘Who else gets inside my head and puts all these ideas of being confident and determined and hopefully, one day, well-dressed?’

Margaery laughs at that. Genuinely laughs. ‘I’m not exactly the best role model today.’

‘You are being _very_ brave with your choices today,’ Sansa quips, eyeing her up and down before taking back her phone and the tub of ice cream. 

This makes Margaery weepy through her smiling. ‘I’m wearing leggings, Sansa.’

‘Mmhmm,’ Sansa says through a mouthful of ice cream, and moves closer as Margaery rests her head on her shoulder, ‘and I’ll give you until you leave before I start to call for an intervention.’

Sansa doesn’t ask what Margaery plans to do before she leaves in a matter of days. She thinks to offer her help with her brother, to give her a push in his direction. She watches Margaery wipe away her tears, wondering how much more pushing she could take, or how many more reunions with Robb she could cope with. So, with some restraint, she decides that she’ll remain tight-lipped for now, only hoping Margaery will try to push herself this time.

* * *

Sansa tells Theon to disregard their listed rules today. He subsequently asks if she’s feeling alright or if they’ve been found out (and if he should be expecting Robb raging at him any time soon).

They’re at the hospital courtyard for their lunch break when she decides that she could have picked a more private place to talk to Theon. With all the passersby for the Paediatric Department’s charity Christmas stalls installed at every corner of the courtyard, she troubles over her decision to come here. She could have also sprung for an extra sweater under her coat because the cold is frighteningly biting today.

‘Here,’ Theon offers his coat. He doesn’t even bother with her protests and just rests it over her shoulders. ‘Stop yer whinging and take it, Stark.’

‘Not whinging.’ Sansa blushes. She’s already nervous about the acquaintances they both bump into at the Christmas stalls, and now she’s focusing on her prepared words for him. ‘I have something to—’

‘How’s your mum, by the way?’ Theon stops and gestures for her to stop by the hot chocolate stand, telling the cashier, ‘Two hot chocolates, please. Ta, love.’

Sansa tries to interject and refuse one, taking her away from her thought process and possibly her nerve to start confessing her feelings for him while he offers her a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

‘She’s fine, Robb texted me that she’s just being difficult about resting and delaying her return to work.’

‘He had to get his stubbornness from someone.’ Theon smirks. ‘I, on the other hand, only inherited my dad’s drinking habits. That and my mum’s good looks. Come to think of it, that might be the reason why my dad hates my guts so much.’

Theon’s candidness about his dysfunctional family always comes off as a casual joke, one that—along with the smile that comes with it—doesn’t reach his eyes. Even more telling is the way he remembers his mother, who had left his family around the same time Sansa’s father had died. Her memory and how he felt about her always seemed to be written painfully across his features. 

Sansa's always wanted to cheer him up whenever she noticed this feigned smile. And considering everything she had planned for today, and her mounting anxiousness, she wonders if a kiss could help ease his sad smile away.

‘Are you feeling okay? Are you still cold?’ Theon holds on to both of their cups, perplexed. ‘You don't look well.’

‘Thanks,’ she says curtly, snatching a cup from him and moving to the next stall over. 

Theon jogs up to her side. ‘Listen, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.’

Sansa nearly chokes, her tongue numbly tingling from her sudden swig of hot chocolate. ‘Oh?’ She lamely replies. 

Theon gestures to a nearby lonely bench, away from most of the crowds and the loud tinkling noises of a stall of musical Christmas dolls dancing in time to ‘Jingle Bells’. 

When they sit side by side, Sansa tries to read him. Was he about to confess that he’s been hiding behind their list of rules and boundaries too? Was he about to confirm Margaery’s theories about his feelings? Sansa had been simultaneously denying and daydreaming about his interest in her for weeks now, and holding her breath to wait on his words was only making her more nervous than she already was.

‘I wanted to tell you that…’ He rubs his hands for warmth. Though he’s wearing a long shirt under his scrubs, he’s shivering from the brisk air around them. She nervously tugs at the coat he gave her, wrapping it more closely around her. ‘I wanted to hang out tonight. At my place instead.’

Sansa nods before she says anything, and Theon continues to elaborate, ‘I mean, now that we’re forgetting that list, and even if Robb shows up, we can finally tell—’

She nearly jumps out of his coat as her pocket vibrates. ‘Oh! Sorry—my phone—it’s…’

She makes a face as she whips her phone out, and he leans in to see what’s gotten her so flustered. Truthfully, she’s flustered because he’s crowding her space, but she’s also embarrassed by Joffrey’s persistent texting of late. 

‘Are you—I mean, you must’ve been—you’re obviously still talking to the prick.’ There’s a visible tick in his posture when he leans back, his left shoulder jerking away as if he were trying to shake something off of it. 

‘Joffrey? Well, yes he does text from time to time—’

‘It’s too bad,’ he says and takes a long sip from his hot chocolate.

‘What’s _that_ mean?’

She should explain that Joffrey’s texts have mostly gone unanswered or given one-word answers to, and that she’s not interested in revisiting the charade of enjoying Joffrey’s company. She had enough of that at their Christmas do. 

Then, he starts again. ‘I mean, you seem to have a type.’ 

She knows he’s only teasing, but it does irritate her that he wouldn’t give her the benefit of the doubt, especially after nights they’ve spent talking about her plans to elevate her standards after Ramsey and Harry. 

‘Theon, come on…’

‘What?’ Even more irritating is his persistence in being oblivious. He even adds, ‘So, are you two… are both of you-’

Past Theon, Sansa feels her eyes grow wide, and she gladly takes the distraction. She might get physical if he continues this way. ‘Look!’ 

Even from afar, Sansa points out the stalls of novelty jewelry and Christmas ornaments. Between the stalls, she spots Margaery’s predicament. Ahead of her friend, past a few strangers, Robb is talking with another doctor she vaguely recognizes, and he seems oblivious of Margaery. 

‘Yeah, Robb and Margaery ditched your party to shag.’ Theon narrows his eyes on the pair of them.

Sansa gawks at him, but joins him in staring at her brother and Margaery. Margaery stays rooted to the spot, but shifts her stance to appear intrigued by an iridescent spiraling ornament and whatever the stall owner is telling her. ‘I figured as much. How do you even know that? Did Robb tell you that?’

‘He didn’t have to. Did you see the way they were at his flat for your birthday lunch? They might as well have jumped each other with the way they were exchanging their googly eyes.’ Theon sadly laughs, ‘Until your brother had to ruin it all in the end. He’s also an _awful_ liar. Can’t be helped.’

‘Look at them,’ Sansa says, shaking her head. Margaery’s now fully committed in listening to the talkative stall owner, while Robb’s finally caught sight of her. 

‘I know exactly what he’s thinking, too,’ Theon says, a wide smile spreading over his lips as he eyes Robb telling his coworker to seemingly wait for him while he moves toward Margaery.

‘And I know exactly what Margaery would be thinking.’ Sansa smiles too.

He doesn’t sound exactly like her brother, but the more serious cadence in Theon’s affected voice is clearly imitating Robb. ‘ _Hiya, y’arite, Margaery_ ,’ Theon says in time to Robb’s mouth moving. 

Sansa’s Margaery isn’t very good, but Sansa giggles through it anyways, replying as soon as Margaery’s mouth moves too, ‘ _Fine, you?_ ’

_‘Listen, about Sansa’s lunch—it was shite of me to bring up Renly like that. Oh Margaery, forgive me. You know how much I love to make everyone around me know that I’m just a mardy bum with an ooey-gooey center._ ’

Sansa’s spits out some of her hot chocolate, quickly replying, ‘ _Darling,_ ’ —Theon fixes an impressed expression on her, mouthing, ‘S _pot on!_ ’ — ‘ _all is forgiven. You know I can’t resist it when you admit that I’m always right._ ’ 

‘ _Aye, that you are, my love. All is forgiven. Kiss me.'_

They both burst out into laughter, and Sansa pushes him away from leaning on top of her, just before he spills the contents of his own cup over her. ‘Theon, you’re going to scald me.’

Their laughter is short-lived, however, just as Margaery and Robb’s encounter seems to be cut short with a less than romantic departure compared to Sansa and Theon’s narration. 

Sansa, sobered by her brother’s strained expression as Margaery leaves his side, huffs, ‘Why can’t they just—’

‘Admit that they’re being stupid and get over their insecurities so that they can focus on making their relationship work?’ Theon shrugs.

‘What?’ Sansa whips her head around. 

‘What?’

Sansa thinks on his words and finds herself growing anxious again, and his closeness, the way he’s still leaning toward her, makes her grow hot in his coat. Looking down, with their shoulders pressed together, with what little space they have between them, she sees that their fingers sit on top of each other. ‘Theon, I wanted to tell you…’

‘Yes?’ She’s not sure if it’s her nerves, but she wonders if his expectant reply seems affected. Could he be nervous too?

‘Sansa! Theon!’ Sansa feels like she’s being drawn out of a haze to see Jeyne Poole standing before them. Jeyne’s smile is sparkling, but it only seems brighter to notice Theon getting up to greet her. 

Jeyne’s not changed much since she last saw her at uni. If you knew her well enough and had a discerning eye, you’d notice that Jeyne’s hair colour is a lighter hue of brown and her skin looks significantly clearer from the spotty mess it had been before. The pettiest voice in Sansa’s head teases her as to why any of this matters, and she ignores it.

‘Y’arite, Jeyne?’ Theon says while Sansa gives her a quick hug. 

‘Fine, you?’ Jeyne says, then happily sighs, ‘I’m just shattered from all this last minute Christmas shopping. Gods, it’s such torture, but I just _had_ to visit these adorable Christmas stalls everyone in town keeps talking about. It’s absolutely lovely.’ 

‘Yes, it is,’ Sansa replies, and finds that Jeyne is obviously eyeing Theon again. It’s no surprise, though. Jeyne, a mutual friend from their secondary school, had always been infatuated with Theon. 

‘So, how long has this been going on then?’ Jeyne winks at Sansa, and now her gaze flits between them.

‘Sorry?’ Sansa instinctively looks to Theon for help, and only understands Jeyne’s implication after doing so. ‘Oh.’

‘Yeah, I always knew you two were both going to end up together. It was only a matter of time,’ Jeyne slyly says.

‘ _Oh_.’ Theon clues in. ‘No, uh—well—’ 

‘Oh. No, no, _no_.’ Sansa adds to Theon’s reply, and, before she thinks about it, shrugs off Theon’s coat, willing herself to ignore his surprised reaction as she hands it back to him.

‘Three ‘no’s?’ Theon chuckles at that.

‘Well, I’m a bit surprised, but mostly because...Theon Greyjoy…’ Jeyne starts, openly eyeing him up and down this time. ‘You’re _fit_ , mate.’

Theon rubs the back of his neck and laughs, ‘Thanks, Jeyne.’

‘Seriously, I heard both Robb and you were working at the same hospital, and I almost didn’t believe it,’ Jeyne pauses to apologize for any offence that might have caused, ‘but, I see it now.’

‘I’m glad I’ve not disappointed you.’ Theon snorts, still amused. 

Sansa has been around Theon long enough to know how he flirts. Although Theon seems more restrained here, she can tell that he’s at least entertaining Jeyne with easy, affable smiles to match hers. Theon can’t help it. His flirtatious behaviour is almost second nature, but at least he has the decency to keep looking toward Sansa.

Was he trying to seek her approval? Was he ashamed of indulging in Jeyne’s attention? Was he actually letting Jeyne take his phone to put her number in?

Sansa’s fuming returns, but this time it’s only brought on by annoyance. 

When Jeyne finally says goodbye, Sansa finds herself stewing in more petty thoughts.

‘Was Jeyne—’ Theon begins in disbelief.

‘Of _course_ she was. She’s been in love with you since— you got her number, didn’t you?’ Sansa crosses her arms.

Another surprised look twists his features. ‘Sansa, are you… _jealous_?’

If there was a chance to speak her truth, to tell him how she feels about him, Margaery would indicate that it would be this chance. Right now. She could be brave and she could be confident as she promised herself. 

_She could. She could. She could._

‘I mean,’ Theon begins slowly, grinning in his usual knowing way. ‘When you accused me of being jealous of Joffrey, I took it like a champ.’

She gapes at him. ‘You _think_ so?’

‘Yeap.’

The other thing that comes second-nature to Theon is his insecurity of being persecuted, and she wonders if Joffrey’s text was triggering this somehow. Was he really trying to prove a point now?

‘Pack it in, will you?’ 

Theon doesn’t look triumphant at making her give up on arguing with him. In fact, this reply only seems to goad him on. ‘You went on your merry way with Joffrey that night, remember? And what did _I_ do? Stayed out of the way.’

‘So, what?’ Somehow, her full-body fuming seems to start concentrating at the tips of her ears because they’re absolutely burning at the moment. ‘Would you want me to afford _you_ the same courtesy?’

If Theon only intended to joke with her from the start, and if Sansa only meant to show fleeting annoyance at this, these plans seem sidelined to this surfacing row. Yes, with their significantly straighter stances opposite of each other, it would definitely look like a row to anyone passing by.

Now, he crosses his arms, brows furrowing in time with a frown, making her wary. Was he _really_ taking this personally? 

All of this couldn’t be more ill-timed. _So much for a heartfelt confession_ , she grumbles inwardly. At the moment, all she thinks she can do is scream about all the unfortunate interruptions and his stubborn pride. 

‘Well, you’ve got Jeyne’s number, don’t you?’ She says, trying to bite back her bitter tone. ‘Go on, then.’

Theon frowns. ‘Well—I—you wouldn’t be bothered if I asked her to hang out tonight?’

Sansa wanted to get over her own pride, brush off his obvious attempts to instigate a reaction, but somehow she submits to the thought of Theon’s suggestion. ‘ _Go on, then_ ,’ she repeats.

* * *

By the time she clocks out of work, Theon has sent her what she can only describe as a _battery_ of texts.

He’s apologizing, of course, but then he’s trying to glean more information about Joffrey from her. He’s calling himself an idiot, but then he's also asking her why she’s still talking to ‘that bleach-blond prick’.

All in all, Sansa is not biting.

> **Sansa** : still calling Jeyne tonight?

Theon’s text bubble appears and disappears a few times. Then it disappears altogether.

‘ _Urgh!_ ’ she groans loudly to stop herself from cursing, startling a nearby elderly woman at the bus stop. She sheepishly apologizes, but the woman stalks past her as an approaching bus starts to stop in front of them. 

> **Sansa** : I can’t come over tonight. Tired.

Sansa hits the send button on her phone’s screen a little harder than necessary before she steps on to the bus, and then quickly pockets her phone. 

When her phone vibrates, buzzing against her thigh and her seat at the back of the bus, she decidedly ignores it, fearing she’ll have something worse to say to him. 

The buzzing stops at the second last stop to her flat, and she’s tempted to check how many texts or voicemails he’s sent her. 

_No_ , she commands herself. 

For as angry as she’s gotten, the monotonous ride home, the familiar bumps along the roads she knows so well, lulls her into a state of calmness. 

Or maybe she’s just as tired as she’s claimed to be to Theon.

‘Marge?’ Sansa calls as she comes through her front door, tossing her keys toward the bowl of change and random knick-knacks. 

Kicking off her trainers at the welcome mat, she realizes her flat’s quiet. Maybe Margaery’s asleep or gone out? 

‘Marge? I’ve got—’ 

Sansa finds a note on her kitchen table. 

_Gone out for dinner. Might be out late. -M_

Sansa smirks. Margaery could’ve texted her instead. A silly idea brings a smile to her face. Maybe her brother’s romantic sensibility in leaving notes and writing letters is finally rubbing off on Margaery. Maybe the exchange between her and Robb from earlier was more hopeful than it looked. Maybe _they_ were having dinner together tonight. 

A wave of depression comes over her at the thought. It’s not that she _wouldn’t_ be happy for her brother and Margaery, but Sansa was supposed to be having dinner with Theon tonight. She was supposed to have told him the truth by now. But she hasn't. Tonight, she’s alone in her flat.

She wonders if Theon’s alone too. The thought of him asking Jeyne to remedy that loneliness makes her stomach turn. 

‘Sod this,’ she groans to herself.

Something that has always soothed her was cleaning. She may have a habit of being messy at times, but ironically she truly found therapy with a mop and duster around her flat. 

Consciously, she retrieves her phone and clears all her notifications from Theon, and, with all she could muster, she makes deliberate steps toward her bedroom. 

‘Just for now,’ she mutters as she places her phone face down on her dresser.

Cleaning starts with her laundry, and she even takes some of Margaery’s to really extend her time with this task. Just like her friend, there would be many layers to consider. She would have to sort through all kinds of textures with meticulous care. 

_Darks. Colours. Whites. Silks. Chiffon. Cashmeres. Delicates._

Then, after inputting the settings from recalling Margaery’s particular instructions, she moves into the kitchen.

With the dishes getting soaked in her sink, she starts to really concentrate, and this mindful feeling seems to wash over her. She even finds a shoulder roll and a deep sigh helps her forget about...

Her phone trills loudly in the background, and she regrets not muting it instead of keeping it on for emergencies. 

‘Shut it, Theon!’ She automatically snaps over her shoulder.

After a few more maddening seconds of continued ringing, her phone finally silences, and she lets out a relieved sigh. 

But her last cleaning tasks eventually take her to her bedroom, and she can’t ignore the ringing here.

‘Mum? Sorry, is there something you need? I got sidetracked with cleaning my flat.’

‘Cleaning? Are you feeling okay?’ Catelyn seems more amused than curious over the line.

Sansa wishes her mum could see her eyes rolling at that. ‘I _clean_.’

‘When there’s something wrong,’ Catelyn tells her, her tone suggesting a smirk on her lips while she says this. 

‘Mum, have you called me to—’

‘Have you gotten through your room yet? I used to love the different things you used to dig up or wear from your childhood to amuse yourself with.’ 

‘Mum, if there’s nothing else—’

‘Arya would join in on the fun, remember?’

‘Mum! I’m upset, you’ve got me, okay!’ Sansa rarely raises her voice to her mother, and her tone isn’t aggressive here, but it’s loud enough to give Catelyn pause to continue.

‘Is this about Robb?’ Catelyn asks, genuine concern in her voice. ‘Because, lately, both of you seem as moody as your cousin Jon, and that’s _never_ a good sign.’

‘It’s not a big deal, Mum, I promise you.’ For some reason, she feels exhausted from admitting this. It’s the truth, really. She truly wasn’t in the mood to explain her humiliation or relive it in any way.

There’s another pause from her mother’s end of the line. Then, Catelyn offers, ‘If it’s about work, I’m so very proud of you for being so resilient through it all, _especially_ when it came to taking care of your dear old mum.’

Sansa smiles softly, and almost asks her to not continue before their conversation starts getting weepy. Most calls that end up here, with her mother’s praises and reminders to be strong, always do. On her last emotional call with her, when she had told her about Harry, it had been the same.

Then, Catelyn offers something that strangely lines up with her thoughts on this. ‘If this is about something else, maybe something to do with that beating resilience in your chest, I can assure you that you’ll fight through this too.’

She doesn’t let out a dam, but she does feel a tear roll down her cheek to hear her mum say this. ‘Thanks, mum.’

‘Of course!’ All of a sudden Catelyn is cheery. ‘Now, I actually _did_ have a purpose for ringing you up.’

‘Go on.’

‘Cleaning, coincidentally.’

‘I’m not sure you should be cleaning with the state of your head, mum. Remember, if you fall again—’

‘I mean with computers, sweetling. How does one go about cleaning a Facebook photograph from the story. Or is it a feed? I can’t remember what it’s called, but I don’t think it’s a feed. It has nothing to do with animal troughs, does it?’ Catelyn laughs at her own joke.

‘Mum,’ Sansa says slowly. ‘I’ll help you delete a picture from your feed. Just... _please_ stop talking now.’

* * *

By the time Sansa finds herself in her bedroom, organizing her newly washed and dried laundry, she settles into her calmest disposition yet.

The sounds from her Spotify playlist float dreamily through the flat with languid, airy crooners, making her hum and sing along as she rummages through the back of her closet. 

With each long lost, and now found, item she can’t help but gasp and blissfully reminisce.

Sansa finds herself slipping into her favourite pajama shorts, one with adorable, cartoonized sushi scattered across its fabric. In her hair, she loops and twists a velvet pink scrunchie to hold a top knot at the crown of her head. Then there was her mother’s hat box that she had always admired and was finally gifted before she left home. Inside the oval, pink box were a few nostalgic items.

On top of her bed, sitting cross-legged, Sansa sifts through everything with care and delight. She hadn’t seen some of these tokens from her family’s past in several years. 

A pencil case with all her favourite glitter pens. A locket her father had given her on her twelfth birthday. 

‘Oh,’ she winces and laughs at the fashion choices each of her siblings had chosen for various Christmas photos. She especially giggles at a frilly grey dress Arya seemed to be itching to get out of.

Then, her fingers smooth over a picture she was attempting to recall. She knew it was a picture of Robb, Theon, and herself. They all looked so young. It would have been year 6 for both Robb and Theon, so that would have been year 4 for her. She knew it was a photo taken at one of the pantomimes she acted in since she was dressed in a costume that looked just like Wendy Darling. She had played Wendy twice, one when her father was alive and…

‘Oh,’ she gasps, noticing the rose in her hand.

She knew this picture was taken a few months after her father died. To confirm it, she looks on the back of the photograph. 

_December, 21st_

As in, exactly fifteen years ago today. Her chest tightens at this memory and what it means.

Sansa abruptly jolts into action, clumsily putting all of her belongings back into the box. Without tidying up the rest of her dug up memorabilia, she jumps out of bed. 

As she puts on her thickest knee high socks, and jogs out of her bedroom with her long coat over her shoulders and her mobile in hand, Sansa has only one destination in mind. 

* * *

‘Theon, pick up, pick up, _pick up_ ,’ she begs as she finally makes it to the bus stop outside her apartment complex, but she’s only met with his voicemail recording.

Once she settles into her seat on the bus, it occurs to her that it’s late. It’s half past eleven to be exact, and she’s not entirely sure what his plans are tonight. She was supposed to be with him, and a sinking feeling in her stomach returns from the memory of Jeyne saving her number on Theon’s phone. If a picture of childhood memories provoked her to get up and _move_ , Jeyne’s flirtatious exchange with Theon only fuels it even further.

Would Jeyne be there? Would he really have called her to keep him company instead? Would he do all of that just to prove a point?

It’s these dreadful thoughts that make her stare silently at the keypad of his own apartment complex’s lobby.

She’s made it here, but her fingers barely move to key his flat number in. 

_Be brave. Be brave. Be brave._

With her mantra in mind, she eventually keys in the number he had texted her when he had first attempted to invite her over.

‘H-hello?’ Theon answers groggily after the dial tone.

‘Oh, I’m sorry for waking you.’ Sansa hopes he’s groggy from sleep and not anything else. She wills herself to think positively.

‘Sansa?’ His surprise is clear through his intercom. ‘Why—is something wrong—well, of course, come up.’

Between getting buzzed in to waiting to emerge from the elevator to his top floor flat, Sansa wracks her brain for her prepared words about her feelings again. Something that took days of deliberation. 

_The thing is, Theon...I’ve been meaning to tell you...All along, I..._

But that all seems to evaporate to see him finally opening up his door to her.

Theon breaks a yawn to survey her with concern. He looks weary but incredibly wary of her presence. He also looks rumpled in his hoodie and sweatpants. Rumpled from what? Or who? She can’t help but look past him or listen intently for any sounds of anyone in his flat. 

‘So…’ Theon trails off, following her distracted gaze. ‘You look like you’ve been closet shopping again. Big clean up day?’

‘Have you checked out that funny smell you were mentioning about last week,’ she finally says.

‘Pardon?’

Sansa moves past him and into his living room, craning her neck as she looks around, especially toward the corridor where she suspects his bedroom to be. 

‘Sansa, what’re ya on about?’ He joins her, utterly confused and maybe a bit annoyed at her moving past him again. 

She goes down to the corridor, and makes a big show sniffing about, craning her neck again to peek through a door that’s been left ajar. His bedroom, she presumes, looks empty.

‘You know,’ she says in relief, but then almost gasps to see him directly in front of her, ‘it could be a gas leak. You need to be careful.’

‘Sansa, are you off your head?’ He earnestly asks, which makes her consciously tug at her long coat to hide her shorts and knee high socks. ‘You’ve been ignoring all my calls and texts, and now you’re here at nearly midnight...What’s going on?’

‘It’s just...I was worried,’ she tells him, guiltily staring up at his furrowed brows and his blue eyes looking stormy from a growing concern over her. 

‘It was honestly just a bit of ham that’s gone off. You know I hate getting any of my sister’s cooking, I just basically leave it until it’s spoiled.’

‘No, no.’ She shakes her head, and exhales slowly to rephrase, ‘I was worried that it was too late to get to you.’

‘Nah,’ he scoffs, ‘I reckon I’d eat something Robb cooks before I eat anything my sister offers me.’ 

She closes her eyes, willing another explanation to come to mind. 

‘Erm—are we still talking about my sister’s awful cooking?’ 

He crosses his arms when she finally looks at him again. Then, something flashes across his eyes, something that looks like disbelief. 

‘Did you think that I wasn’t alone tonight?’

She chooses to ignore this and says, ‘I found this.’ From her pocket, she takes out a folded photograph.

Theon takes it from her, unfolding it, and there’s something that definitely unravels across his features. ‘This is…’

‘Mmhm.’

‘Was a good looking lad before too,’ she knows Theon is trying humour here, but he’s too quiet to be completely unaffected by this memory. 

‘I remember the rose you gave me.’ For the first time since she’s arrived, she feels her eyes locking onto his with determination. She feels herself flushing, but the heat only spurs her on. ‘I remember your kindness.’

He visibly gulps before he nods, still engrossed by the photograph. ‘I nicked it from the school’s garden allotments.’

‘I know.’ 

‘I wanted you to...feel good that day.’ Theon looks up from the photo to search her face. 

Maybe he was searching for some impending joke here or the moment, like so many before this, that would just give way to an awkward silence or an excuse to start talking about something else.

‘You’re always kind to me, Theon.’ Sansa bows her head to see him clutching the photograph with shaky fingers. Without thinking about it, she reaches for him, holding onto his hands so she’s grasping at the photograph too. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be the same tonight.’

‘You know why I asked you here tonight?’ His voice is perceptibly quieter now, without a hint of a quip or joke at the end of this question. 

She nods. ‘I’m past the rules and the lies and the awful, _neurotic_ things we’ve been thinking toward each other. I’m past Joffrey and Jeyne. I just want to be here for you and for however you feel about your mum tonight. You don’t have to tell me twice about what today means to you. I’m just sorry it took a while to get here.’

Theon nods gratefully.

She continues, ‘Years ago, I got a rose from you because you knew my dad had died months before that play. I never told you then, but I’ll never forget that on that same day you chose to be there for me when you were meant to be grieving about your mum leaving your family.’

‘I did want you here to help me,’ he admits. ‘I haven’t spoken to her since she left us. I recently got her number from Yara…and, I don’t know, I suppose I wanted to get your advice about how to approach the conversation with her.’

‘Of course, I’m here now.’

‘Thank you.’ He smiles warmly at her.

A beat. Then another fills the space between them. All the while, Sansa feels her heartbeat ramping up while there are still words left unsaid.

Theon seems perceptive to ask, ‘Is that all, Sansa?’

Now, he’s filling the space between them with his taller stature leaning toward her. 

She feels the momentum from her beating heart push her, and, before she feels like it’ll burst through her, she leans upward to kiss him. She feels her photograph drop to her feet. 

As first kisses with childhood friends go, she pulls back from Theon’s closed lips to think it definitely could’ve been a lot worse. 

It’s a short, chaste kiss, and her heart is still hammering away, but...

Theon’s tight-lipped mouth finally opens to curse, ‘Fuck.’ It’s clear that he’s been holding his breath from the long exhale he releases. ‘Sorry, sorry.’ 

Nervously, she says, ‘If you don’t feel the same—’

Theon vigorously shakes his head and cups her face. ‘I was just shocked. I didn’t think I could…’

He’s looking at her with wide-eyes, and with reverence. It makes her hold her own breath in.

‘Sansa,’ he sighs. ‘You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that. I've wanted to tell you for _so_ long...It’s just that...Robb and Margaery…’

‘Are you still on about my brother’s business?’ She asks weakly.

‘No,’ he says, ‘I mean, they started out as friends too. Now, they can barely be in the same room together.’

‘We’re not Robb or Margaery, we can’t compare ourselves,’ Sansa firmly tells him, and brings his hands down from her face, giving them a reassuring squeeze. ‘Theon, you know I’ve been through hell with Ramsay and Harry, and you know I have this tendency to let things happen to me...I’ve also had this idea in my head to wait for a better relationship to come along. It’s just childish to think that way, isn't it?’

Theon watches their clasped hands as she squeezes them again. 

‘In fact,’ she adds, ‘You've been there for every low moment and every happy moment I’ve been through since we were kids, and that means you’re too important to me to think you’ll come and go like any other man in my life. I want you in my life for as long as you’ll want to be in it.’

Theon, not for the first time tonight, doesn’t seem to grasp for the easy joke or smart comment. Instead, he’s staring at her, stunned into silence.

‘This is where you kiss me again, hopefully _without_ thinking of my brother this time,’ she quips, and her nervous laughter seems to shake him from some sort of trance. 

‘ _Gods_ , don’t repeat that to anyone,’ he grumbles. Then, he moves forward, tilting her head up toward his again. 

As far as second kisses with childhood friends go, Theon’s delayed reaction makes up for any of her doubts in tremendous leaps and bounds. 

_**tbc** _


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) A million thank yous to [NateFraust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NateFraust/pseuds/NateFraust) for the beta work once again. You make my writing (and grammar) tolerable! LOL
> 
> 2) Also, a big thank you to [Kristin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourtoxic_valentine/pseuds/yourtoxic_valentine) for letting me rant and rant and rant, and talk about so many ideas about my writing =)
> 
> 3) Of course, thank you to those of you that continue to review and leave kudos. Thank you for all the love and sticking it out until now! There 2 more chapters coming up (Margaery and Robb)!

__

_We are bound to inherit_   
_The sins of our parents_   
_And all of the people we passed through_   
_Now we're down to the last two_

_May I Have This Dance - Francis and the Lights_

**THEON**

Theon’s not ashamed of his reputation. 

He should, he thinks, be more tactful around the women he’s been with in the past. The jokes he’s shared with them have oftentimes caused him to self-diagnose with 'foot-in-mouth syndrome'. The looks they sometimes give him remind him to do so if he forgets. Luckily, most of them have moved on to other floors within the hospital and even other hospitals in the city. Still, he knows that it’s not _just_ the women that find his reputation as more lecherous than playful. Now, more than ever, he finds himself feeling reflective over this.

He wonders if Sansa thinks about this too.

Lovely, warm, kind Sansa. Sansa, who is in his arms as he wakes up to these thoughts, still sleeping soundly next to him on his couch. Just minutes before fully rousing from sleep, he wouldn’t have believed she was really here, but a quick glance over the evidence—empty curry takeout plates on his coffee table, his TV screen still streaming an Attenborough-narrated documentary—effectively convinces him of her late night visit. 

And Sansa _had_ really kissed him last night. She didn’t kiss him in the perfunctory way she would do for family celebrations or to greet a friend into the Stark family home. She kissed him in a way that no one else could have managed, leaving him nearly speechless. In fact, even after kissing her back, he had barely strung together a coherent sentence.

‘Hey...’ She shocks him into the familiar feeling of being tongue-tied again, her eyes fluttering open. She doesn’t ask how long he’s been watching her sleep, thankfully, and slowly sits up straighter in his embrace. ‘Morning.’

_Gods, was he ever in trouble._

‘Morning, love,’ he smiles, trying to ignore the way his back ached from the way he had slept sitting upright the entire night. 

‘I’m _so_ sorry,’ she says, seemingly reading an expression on his face that might have indicated this pain. ‘I should’ve asked you about going to bed.’

The way Sansa blanches and then furiously blushes at that nearly arrests his heart. 

_So much trouble._

‘N-no, I mean,’ she stutters at first, ‘I didn’t mean for us to sleep together this way.’

‘That’s still not right, is it?’ He teases, jostling her from his laughter.

Sansa sighs heavily and drops her head to his chest, grumbling something indiscernible to him.

‘I wouldn’t think you’d ask me to do anything you didn’t want to do,’ he says, giving her a squeeze. 

She lifts her head up, asking, ‘Did you expect to--last night?’

It’s Theon’s turn to feel his face drain of colour. ‘‘Course not! I didn’t want _that_ ,” he says almost too urgently.

‘But...that’s odd for you, isn’t it?’ She sits up even straighter and leans back so that his arms fall away from her. 

Theon racks his brains for something to help him here. This was _exactly_ what he wanted to avoid. He didn’t want her thinking that _this_ , what happened between them last night, was comparable to anything he had ever experienced before. 

If he wanted to get a better idea of how Sansa really felt about him, he’d probably be getting a clearer picture after his next words.

_No pressure or anything_. 

As if he tries to impress on her how much he is concentrating, Theon turns off his TV and takes her hands in his. ‘When I said that I have been wanting this to happen between us for so long, I meant it, Sans. So, forgive me if I’m not being my usual, fuck-up self by trying to get into your pants.’

He cringes at hearing himself speak. 

_How romantic. Sodding idiot._

Sansa’s lips curl back, as if she were trying to hold something back. 

‘Sorry, let me start over.’ It’s embarrassing, he realizes, to be less than quick or without the right words. It’s not something he’s used to and it leaves him with an unnerving feeling.

She interrupts him. ‘Theon, your usual self is fine. I like your usual self. I _adore_ your usual self.’

‘I don’t want to fuck this up,’ he confesses quietly. ‘If there’s _anything_ I could fuck up, I’ll even pray to the Old Gods to make sure it won’t be this.’

‘Shush,’ Sansa says soothingly. ‘You’ve spent way too long thinking you don’t deserve this, haven’t you?’

He frowns, wondering what she means. It’s certainly no longer to do with him sleeping around.

‘Do you really think that I haven’t noticed how much my family means to you? Or how much it hurts to talk about your own?’ Sansa’s delicate brows raise at his silence. ‘Sometimes, I think as much as you tend to be around us, you also believe that you don’t belong with the people who care about you. Maybe it’s because of your dad...or your mum…’

‘I…’ He trails off, slowly realizing that, of _course_ , she’s this bloody clever. 

‘You deserve to be happy,’ she says firmly. ‘Just like I deserve to be with someone who cares about me.’ 

A surprising swell in his chest, air in his lungs he didn't realize he was withholding, makes him heave a sigh. ‘You’re a wonder, Stark. You really are.’

A wide smile spreads over her lips, as if the compliment means she’s settled the matter. That distinct pang he’s always felt around her, the one that finds itself blooming in his chest once again, seems a lot more meaningful now. It was always there, just like _she’s_ always been, reminding him exactly who always had and always would have a hold over him. 

‘I try,’ she says, rising from her seat and pulling him up along with her. ‘Now, let’s go over what we talked about last night. Your mum will have to play years of catch up when you finally ring her up.’

This - and her idea to let him walk her home, with promises to make up for their lost time because of an ill-conceived friendship list with public displays of affections - coaxes him out of his doubts even more.

* * *

Theon stares at his phone screen, hovering a finger over Robb’s number, feeling incredibly pathetic.

He’s already in front of Robb’s door, with Sansa’s reassurances repeating over and over again in his thoughts, but he’s still hesitant to make any movement.

‘ _Shit_ ,’ Theon hisses as his phone vibrates and jingles from Robb’s sudden, incoming text. 

The loud ringing must have filtered through the door because he hears shuffling and footsteps toward him. 

Without thinking, Theon reacts by brushing past his friend when the door opens. ‘Toilet!’ he shouts behind his shoulder as he heads toward the bathroom, dropping his belongings at Robb’s kitchen table and ignoring Greywind nipping at his hurried steps.

‘Grey, heel,’ Robb calls after his husky. ‘Oi! My mum’s going to be here at half past one. This is all you’re packing?’

‘We’re only going to be in Winterfell for the weekend,’ Theon shouts behind the closed door of the bathroom. ‘What's the point of packing more? Besides, we can just stop by Boots on our way to the train station if I’ve forgotten anything.’

He can’t hear Robb’s response, but, from its tone, it doesn’t sound like he’s in the mood for Theon’s persistent tardiness or his tendency to cause it. 

Without needing the bathroom at all, Theon leans against the closed door while he desperately tries to screw up the courage to tell Robb about his new relationship with Sansa. That was the whole point of meeting Robb here. That, and of course, traveling with him to Winterfell for the Starks’ annual Christmas Eve celebrations, something he’s been invited to since he could start to remember. But from the way his friend is mumbling, possibly about some displaced anger, Theon is seriously battling his second thoughts on confessing anything at all.

‘ _Finally_ ,’ Robb says, throwing him a fresh pair of socks and a toothbrush when Theon finally emerges from the bathroom. ‘Just so you don’t go rooting around my things like you usually do. I know how much you love to make yourself comfortable with the family, but let’s just keep _some_ boundaries, ey?’

‘Aye,’ Theon laughs at that, loudly and nervously, and lunges for another distraction to stop Robb from saying anything further. Throwing a nearby football his way, he goads, ‘Bet a tenner I can keep it up the longest.’

Fortunately, Robb agrees and starts to dribble the ball between his shuffling feet. ‘Twenty says you lose. Again.’

Theon motions for Robb to pass it. ‘Deal,’ he mutters, already feeling the challenge take some of his anxious energy away. 

Robb expertly juggles the ball from one foot to the other, then signals for Theon to brace himself. When he kicks the ball, he says, ‘So, Jeyne Poole messaged me online last night. You remember Jeyne from school, right?’

‘Yea, and?’ Theon clears his throat, concentrating on shifting his weight on one side of his body to balance the ball on the curved top of his foot. Then, he controls his kick to lob the ball toward Robb. ‘You interested in her?

Robb easily stops the ball from getting kicked past him, and it stays in motion with measured bounces between his knee and foot.

‘She’s interested in you, mate,’ Robb tells him, and kicks the ball back to him. ‘But _apparently_ you’re not answering her texts and calls. Bit odd.’

Theon is immensely relieved that he can pass off his tunnel vision as trying to avoid dropping the ball. While he kicks the ball up to meet his chest and lets it fall to bounce off his shuffling feet again, he tries a mantra, _keep cool, keep cool, keep cool._

‘How’s that?’ Theon asks, still not meeting Robb’s eyes as he concentrates on the ball.

‘Well, Jeyne seems your type - and she’s _very_ persistent. It’s just odd that you’re not interested.’ Robb doesn’t appear to look suspicious of him. He might simply be trying to help Theon find a date. Possibly encouraging him more, Robb even adds, ‘She also wants to let you know that she’s _not_ looking for a relationship, so if you’re worried about that…’

Theon chuckles at the irony of being offered anything less than what he’s gained with Sansa, and he kicks the ball a little off-center. 

‘I’m not, erm, looking for anyone at the moment,’ Theon says, and nearly trips on his own feet when Robb kicks the ball back with surprising force.

‘ _Really_ …’ Robb crosses his arms and clicks his tongue before he focuses on the ball that’s kicked his way again.

‘ _Really_ ,’ Theon echoes with certainty, and then winces as he tries to handle the force of Robb’s ball striking him on the chest. He almost loses his balance trying to juggle the ball back into a controlled back and forth between his feet. ‘Gods, you are kicking—’

‘Keep up, Greyjoy.’ Robb challenges, smirking.

‘I am.’ Theon kicks with growing exertion.

‘Start trying before I _really_ start trying.’ Robb kicks back. 

The ball hurtles toward Theon in the same spot as before, stinging the skin under his shirt. 

Robb continues to taunt him, ‘You seem distracted. Anything you want to tell me?’

Theon’s head shoots up at the query; he tries to school his features, ignoring the bead of sweat trailing down the side of his forehead. ‘What?’ he eventually gets out.

Robb’s friendly, competitive demeanour shifts. With narrowed eyes, he says, ‘You know, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always been able to tell me the truth...eventually.’ 

Robb doesn’t even flinch at Theon’s attempt at forcefully kicking the ball, and only sighs as he balances the ball with more annoying effortlessness. ‘Come on…’ he persists.

‘Hold on…let me explain... _oof_ ,’ Theon coughs at the ball hitting him near his crotch, and he miraculously balances the ball once again before kicking it back. 

Robb chests the ball and juggles it between both of his bouncing knees. ‘Yes, you will. Because of Marge’s letter - you _owe_ me one. I know something’s up, so just tell me why you’re suddenly not interested in Jeyne, why you haven’t been ringing me up about any of your random dates and every _excruciating_ detail—’

‘Because of Sansa— _Argh_!’ Theon’s confession is met with the ball painfully smacking him at the side of his mouth.

‘Knew it!’ Robb gapes at him, ignoring Theon’s cursing and doubling over. ‘Fucking knew it.’

Theon dramatically collapses on Robb’s couch. His face doesn’t hurt as much as he’s surprised their game had somehow pulled the truth out of him, but he doesn’t stop Robb from looking slightly sheepish over his vocal grousing. ‘Fucking hell,’ he moans for good measure.

‘So...You and Sansa…’ Robb watches Theon rub at his sore mouth. 

‘I wanted to tell you how I felt about her, but I made a right mess of your life because of Marge’s letter,’ Theon explains without moaning, clenching his jaw. ‘So I didn’t know how to approach you. Just know that what happened between me and Sansa isn’t anything like how I treated Marge’s letter, going behind your back and all that nonsense. In fact, we only started hanging out more so we could find ways to push you and Marge to get back together—’

‘Dickhead. You’re still defining what ‘going behind your back’ means.’ Robb looks about ready to find the football and wallop him again. ‘Had a feeling you two had something planned, especially with all the time you spent together.’

‘Yea,’ Theon admits, nodding, ‘and Sansa and I have only gotten closer since that started. I-I’m—’

‘The friend she was trying to tell me about, the one that’s been keeping her smiling lately,’ Robb says slowly, looking as though he’s making silent connections to himself.

‘You knew?’

‘I’m not _always_ completely hopeless with these things. You’ve also made it a bit easier to tell that something was going on with all your mad behaviour lately.’ Robb scoffs to add, ‘If I were being completely honest, I’d say you fancied her since we were little.’

‘Right…’ Theon can’t believe that he’s still intact, and he marvels at Robb’s restraint. He wonders if his friend’s calmness is something to heed before something torrential erupts.

Robb finally takes a seat next to him, folding his hands together. ‘I’m not going to kick your arse, Theon. Relax.’

‘I _am_ relaxed,’ Theon lies, but starts to take easier breaths anyways. 

‘I trust you,’ Robb says, trying to hide his amusement, and Theon’s grateful that he’s not questioning his intentions. ‘Just...she deserves to be happy and I hope that means she stays that way.’

‘I care about her, mate.’ Theon hopes he sounds earnest. ‘That’s all I want for her.’ 

‘Good.’

‘Okay...’

‘Okay.’

‘Bit odd.’ Theon imitates Robb’s skeptical tone.

‘What?’

‘I didn’t think I’d get away without an arse kicking. Maybe you’ve changed. I’ve seen you get into fights for your sister and Marge for less. Maybe time and-’ Theon stops himself before he mentions Margaery, telling himself that he can’t push his luck now.

‘I-’ Robb doesn’t have time to argue or react when his flat’s buzzer announces Catelyn’s arrival. 

* * *

The Stark family home in Winterfell is lit up in technicolour lights, and the scent of cinnamon seems to be dangling in the air around the front door.

Theon’s been coming to these family parties for so long that he knows that Catelyn’s using a newer set of lights on their Christmas tree (because Rickon accidentally short circuited their older set from a milk and cookies incident). He also knows the cinnamon smell is Sansa’s doing. She always sends home fresh sticks from the market around the corner so her mother can strew them across the fireplace mantel and find ways to incorporate them into nearly every dish or drink for dinner.

For his part in the festivities, Theon brings mince pies for the dessert. They’re usually graciously welcomed, but, this year, everyone’s more concerned with the fact that his hands are entwined with Sansa’s when they’re greeted at the door. It’s so distracting that Catelyn has to herd everyone inside the house before they can lob their burning questions. 

Theon is amused to recall that everyone used to crowd him for his animated stories and impressions of the characters around Wintertown. 

After dinner - and after more ribbing and interrogations about their relationship - Sansa finds her way to his side. ‘Any second thoughts?’ she asks, trying to ignore Bran’s remarks on knowing exactly how much Theon spent on the mince pies he’s seen on offer at the local supermarket. Sansa snaps at Bran when he asks if he didn’t want to spring for the higher-quality ones that weren’t on the discount shelves. 

With Sansa cozied up next to him, both of them sipping from their mugs of mulled spiced wine by the crackling hearth, Theon can’t imagine a better place to be. He smiles before admitting, ‘Not one.’

‘Just because we haven’t thrown you out for dating our sister doesn’t mean it’s not too late if you two don’t keep your hands where we can see them.’ Arya can’t help laughing at them, though her grimacing at their clasped hands tells them that she might only be half-joking.

Sansa rolls her eyes as Gendry sidles up next to Arya, who blushes at whatever he’s whispering in her ear. This leaves Bran and Rickon pulling faces as they more plainly complain that their board game isn’t enough distraction from the ‘lot of them’. 

At exactly twelve, the living room full of Starks - and Theon, and Gendry - lively with food, drink and idle chit-chat, would normally press on with the gifts and more drinks from the pot of mulled spiced wine. However, Theon notices that it’s half-past eleven, as well as the absence of Catelyn and the celebratory drinks she had promised. Usually, by now, Robb would be helping pass out the new cups of wine for the customary cheer at the stroke of midnight. 

‘Where’s Robb and your mum gone?’ Theon asks.

Sansa, a little tipsy, tries to adjust her paper crown from slipping off her head. ‘Can you--’

‘‘Course, I’ll check on them.’ Theon gets up and moves toward the kitchen.

‘Mum, that’s _mental_. What were you _thinking_?’ He hears the irritation in Robb’s tone before he sees it on his face.

As Theon enters through the kitchen, Catelyn assures her son, ‘I’m _fine_ , Robb. I’ve already got a doctor’s note saying I could go back to work.’

‘That doesn’t mean you should,’ Robb argues back, and the pinched expression he tends to hold when he’s cross starts to twist his features.

Although both Robb and Catelyn see Theon entering the kitchen, and even though Theon looks like he’s about to interrupt them, they carry on. 

‘Listen, I know working in Kingsland helps pay the bills on the house, but if you need help--’

‘I don’t mind at all, sweetling. I know doing care support work isn’t as glamorous as what you and Sansa do at the hospital, but I actually love what I do and the people I work with. I’m desperate to go back.’ Catelyn looks toward Theon and adds, ‘Theon was just telling me earlier that some of my clients have been missing me at the hospital.’ 

Having just earned Robb’s full trust back, Theon is taken aback by this. ‘I--I didn’t mean--’

‘Nevermind that,’ Robb says, looking more frustrated with his mother by the minute. He places his wine glass down, and tries to reason with her. ‘Mum, you’ve _just_ been cleared of head trauma from your fall. I don’t care if your ruddy family doctor has given you a note, you should take it easy before you transition back. You’re not being sensible. Theon, _tell her_!’

‘Well…’ Theon trails off.

Frustratingly, he’s still incoherent, racking his brain for the right words to say, and wary of the fact that Robb’s flushed face could mean more than just a sign of all the warm wine he’s consumed.

‘Robb...’ Catelyn approaches her son, meeting him around the kitchen table separating them. She appears to want him to calm down, what with her hands firmly grasping at his arm. ‘I’ve been in worse situations than this before and, with the Seven’s blessing, I’ve worked through it. Who... or _what,_ are you really yelling at here?’

For a moment, Theon thinks Robb will talk about Margaery, about his heartbreak and the confusion he’s had since she’s come back, but then Robb bursts with frustration. ‘I’m not _angry_ at you, mum. I’ve never been angry at you. I wasn’t even angry at anyone after dad died. It’s just...you’ve worked so hard all your life. Worked yourself until you got sick some days. Worked yourself to loneliness other days. I know we’re a big family, and I could tell, even when I was younger, that we were the reason you stopped yourself from meeting anyone new...even now, after your fall, that you still have to deal with that...I can’t help but think that life’s not fair, especially for you. Maybe I’m angry at the Old Gods. If anyone has to suffer, why did they choose _you_? It’s just not fucking _fair_ …’

Catelyn seems to wilt at Robb’s side, leaning into her grasp on him. ‘Oh, life can be cruel. Life _has_ been cruel to our family...but, even when I’d been angered, I had to choose another way to live my life. No matter how dark it can get, I had to fight and find the light. My children, _you_ , are that light.’ 

‘Mum…’

Robb slowly turns his head toward his mother, kissing her forehead as she pulls him into a tight embrace. If there was any more doubt or fight left in Robb, Theon’s sure it’s melted away from Catelyn’s words and the way he tightly hugs her back.

‘Sorry for ruining Christmas dinner,’ Robb apologizes quietly, shame-faced. 

‘Nonsense,’ she kindly assures him, releasing herself from his arms. 

After what seems like a lifetime, and because Theon feels like he’s been intruding on this moment for far too long, he finds a moment to uncomfortably clear his throat. ‘Erm—’

‘You’re a creeper, Greyjoy,’ comes Arya’s timely jeer from behind him. ‘You were supposed to get my mum and Robb back into the living room. What are you doing just _standing_ there?’

Theon dramatically groans.

‘Oh, I’m on my way out!’ Catelyn’s voice sounds cheery again, if not fully recovered from the sniffling she'd been doing in Robb’s embrace. ‘Would you boys be dears and take the wine to the living room? Oh, and more cups as well!’

Arya follows her mother back to the living room, leaving Theon and Robb to their tasks.

‘Sorry if that was...a lot,’ Robb says without looking his way, gesturing for Theon to grab the deep pot of steaming wine from the stove while he rummages through the cupboards for the festive cups his mother tends to use for Christmas. 

  
  


‘S’alright, mate,’ Theon assures him, putting on oven mitts for the pot. Sometimes he forgets himself and the fact that he’s no stranger to this family, or moments like the one he’s just witnessed. ‘I just...didn’t think that you were carrying all of _that_ around for so long. I mean, sometimes you can be pretty serious, and you’ve been more so like that since Margarey’s been back, but...I’m glad you got to talk about it.’

‘Aye,’ Robb agrees, concentrating on stacking the cups onto a serving tray.

‘I know I’m running the risk of getting my arse kicked… _again_ …’ Theon sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. ‘I’ll be done meddling with you and Margaery - for _real_ , this time - but can I make one more observation?’

Robb finally looks up at him. ‘If I said _no_ , would you listen?’ 

‘You can pretend that I tried.’

Robb shakes his head, scoffing and smiling despite himself. ‘Go on, then.’

‘I think you and Margaery… the two of you _needed_ to break up,’ Theon carefully starts, ‘I think all this time apart gave you both some perspective to think about what you really care about.’

‘Not following...so what, you’re okay with us being apart now?’

‘As much as you’ve romanticized about your parents' marriage and how you grew up with your mum sacrificing everything for the family, you won’t have that exact life with Marge and you _know_ that. From what you told your mum, it's not something you’d want anyone you cared about to go through anyway,’ Theon explains. ‘You just want to know that Marge is here to stay for good so you can work things out.’

Robb places the last cup on his tray and swallows thickly. ‘A part of me believes that she wants to stay...but...’

It dawns on Theon what he and Sansa might have seen at the hospital's Christmas stalls while they were inadvertently spying on Robb and Margaery. He doesn’t have to ask how poorly that conversation went; he can tell that Robb’s already struggling over the memory. 

‘I invited her here, but she has some things to take care of before she leaves for Stormsend by New Years’,’ Robb says quietly. ‘I might be losing her... _again_ , Theon.’

Theon doesn’t hesitate this time. ‘She’s not left yet,’ he says, clapping his hand on Robb’s shoulder. ‘Not yet.’

* * *

As much as Theon knows that he’s been accepted into the family from years ago, and just because the Stark children had all _but_ confessed predicting his relationship with Sansa (‘‘Bout bloody time,’ were Jon’s exact words over a Zoom call at midnight to toast with the family), Theon still thinks he has some sense of decorum.

At least, that’s what he tries to tell Sansa when she attempts to lure him into her bedroom after everyone’s gone to bed. 

‘Decorum?’ Sansa tries to smother her laughter with a shaky hand. ‘You sound like Gran scolding us.’

‘Who do you think I learnt that from?’ Theon leans on her doorway, trying to anchor himself there at her threshold. 

‘Come _on_ ,’ she pleads, and he’s sure her eyes are more half-lidded from wanting him to give in to her than from the wine. 

‘What if your mum— _anyone_ hears,’ He says, feeling himself leaning toward her, and the way her hands pull at his collar.

‘If we’re not waking anyone up, we’re not doing it right.’ Her eyes instantly widen from her own words, and her hands fly back up to stop herself from sputtering again.

‘God, the _mouth_ on you now.’ He feigns shock, but, though he’s amused with her trying to amuse him, he can’t deny being opposed to the idea.

‘Who do you think I learnt it from?’ she laughs at herself again. 

Theon should be spurred on by her innuendos, and he can’t help the steamy, mental image of them that pops into his head, but somehow the overwhelming feeling he has is that he’s melting into her touch instead. Were his knees actually buckling too?

_Fucking hell_ , he inwardly groans. 

‘Just a little while, then, and we have to be _quiet_ ,’ Theon tells her, grinning and finally allowing her to pull him into her bedroom. He glances over her thin tank top and lacy shorts, and feels his mouth go dry.

Theon ends up shutting the door as Sansa backs him up against it, and her hands cinch around his neck. He doesn’t waste time to react and kisses her, humming contentedly. 

‘I’ve wanted to do that all night,’ he breathes against her lips as they separate, and connects their lips again. 

Her fingers rake through his hair, while his roam over her lower back. 

Sansa disconnects from his lips with an audible _pop_ when his hands slide down to her arse, leaving him feeling dazed from staring at her pink, swollen lips. 

‘Bed,’ she tells him, and tugs him without waiting for his response.

He lets her push him toward the center of her twin size bed, wincing at how squeaky it sounds when he falls against it. ‘Sansa...wait…’ He tries to prop himself up to avoid the noise, but she collapses on top of him, and he gives in to her nipping teeth at his bottom lip.

Was this the moment? Just days after starting this relationship he’s desperate to separate from the rest? At her family home? In her childhood bedroom?

Truthfully, his mind was currently held by her, with her hands splayed across his chest while she bucked her hips against his, and his hard-on certainly paying her attention. He wasn’t dead, for God’s sake. 

Except, when he lifts his eyes off her, his gaze wanders through the curtain of moonlit auburn hair and spots a line of portraits of her family on a nearby shelf. One particular portrait of Catelyn and Ned seems to be boring into him.

It takes every ounce of him to have courage and stop, his cock screaming bloody _murder_ as it strains underneath her weight. ‘Love,’ he says, gulping, holding her face above his. ‘I want this. You have no _idea_ how much I want this for us. I just…’

Sansa follows his eye line toward the framed pictures of her parents and siblings, and she seems to understand. Her lips curl inward as she meets his eyes again, then they unfurl. ‘Right,’ she says, sighing, dropping her head against his chest. 

‘But, you’re _more_ than welcome to continue this at my place or yours...in time,’ he offers, kissing at the crown of her head.

‘Figures that I start up with you as soon as you turn into some sort of prude,’ her comment comes as she lifts her head up again to pull a face.

He pinches at the sides of her stomach and tries not to move too much; her hips, whether moving on their own accord or not, were still pressing against him. Even so, he’s determined to tell her, ‘It’s not that hard to give in to you, Sansa. I just want to make sure we aren’t interrupted. I want it to be something that we _both_ don’t hold back on.’

Sansa bites down on her bottom lip, and the way she looks at him, like he’s lit up her room with just his words, makes him melt again. ‘Theon…’

‘Sansa? Are you awake?’

They both freeze at the sound of Robb’s voice behind her closed door. 

Sansa tries to affect a sleepy voice, but thinks against it, ‘Robb?’

‘Mind if I come in?’ Robb asks.

‘Fuck me,’ Theon hisses and wriggles out form under her. 

‘Well, now, I _really_ can’t,’ she says under her breath, and scrambles out of bed to push him toward her closet. ‘Hold on, Robb!’

‘The closet? Really?’

‘It’s that or explaining _this_ to my brother,’ she suggests, gesturing at their rumpled appearance. 

‘Fair enough,’ Theon grumbles as he steps inside her closet and shuts it tightly.

‘Robb…’ Sansa greets her brother, combing through her tangled hair with her fingers. ‘Is everything okay?’

Through the thin slots of Sansa’s closet blinds, he sees Robb tiredly enter her room. Even looking this way, he seems determined to speak to her, something clearly on his mind.

‘I…’ he starts as he sits at the edge of Sansa’s bed. ‘I know it’s late, but I’m glad you’re up.’

Sansa sits down, frowning at her brother. ‘Are you okay?’ she persists to ask. 

‘It depends on whether or not I have a chance...with Margaery.’ At least, Theon thinks, Robb’s being direct. 

‘Okay…’ she trails off, patiently waiting for him to continue.

‘She might not be willing to share whatever’s stopping her from talking to me these days, but I need to know, Sansa.’ Robb’s brows furrow. ‘Is there something going on? Is _she_ moving on?’

Sansa starts to wring her wrists. ‘She let slip that Renly’s pulling all his money from the deal with her firm in Kingsland. She’s been trying to find someone to help bolster her equity on the building, having dinners with her clients and trying to find a suitable partner, but...she’s been running out of people and ideas. I’ve tried to help her find another way to stay in Kingsland in the past few days, trying to keep it a secret, but I think you should know that she's going to lose her business, Robb…’

Robb’s determination looks resolute at this, and, without another question, he thanks her. ‘I’m going to help.’

He pulls out his phone from his back pocket and starts to dial, presumably, Margaery’s number.

‘Robb, it’s nearly three in the morning,’ she warns him.

‘Marge, I’m sorry this couldn’t wait...I’m going to help you float your business,’ he appears to wait for a response. ‘Of course...I know you might feel that way...but I’m really not trying to control you...I’m not, I promise…I believe in you...You deserve this business and you deserve to do it your way…expansions and all…’

A pause, an anxious few minutes, sits between all of them as Robb waits for Margaery’s approval.

Then, Sansa catches her brother’s hopeful eyes, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

‘ _Yes?_ ’ Sansa mouths at her brother.

‘Happy Christmas, Marge…’ Robb says before he hangs up and stares almost in disbelief at his phone. 

Sansa rises up from her seat and hugs him. ‘Well done, you,’ she says, half-teasing, half-admiring. 

He squeezes her tightly before he lets go. ‘Off t’bed then. And…’ His eyes flit toward Theon’s, as if the closet doors were suddenly see-through. ‘If you and Theon expect to get to the train station with me on time tomorrow morning, you might want to get to bed soon too.’

Theon stops a choking noise from escaping him as he clamps a hand over his mouth at that.

_**tbc** _


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to four years ago...
> 
> Margaery and Robb have been orbiting around each other at uni/college. As Robb starts to prepare himself for his residency program at the hospital and move into his new Kingsland flat, Margaery and Sansa lend a hand with the move. After Sansa and Theon bail on Robb's plans for a pub night, Robb and Margaery find themselves getting to know one another over the course of a surprisingly revealing night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) A huge thank you to [Kristin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourtoxic_valentine/pseuds/yourtoxic_valentine) for listening to me go on and on and on and, possibly, too much on about this chapter. What a trooper, and I really couldn't go on writing the rest of this fic without her. Also, to [treaddelicately](https://archiveofourown.org/users/treaddelicately/pseuds/treaddelicately) and Kristin (again) for the beta work and the encouragement =)
> 
> 2) We're almost done here, guys! This is the second last chapter of this story! The last chapter will be Robb's POV. I'm going to GUESStimate that it will be posted in the next 2 weeks. 
> 
> 3) Thank you for all the lovely comments so far, I really appreciate all the love. 
> 
> 4) This chapter was inspired by the Modern Love episode, 'At the Hospital, An Interlude in Clarity'.

_So many nights to find the one  
_ _I had 'em on repeat  
_ _Right when I thought my days were done  
_ _You showed the sun to me_

_In and Out of Love - Oh Wonder_

**MARGAERY**

**_Four years ago_ **

‘Your brother thinks I’m useless just because I can’t lift my weight in _his_ belongings,’ Margaery huffs, dropping a cardboard box full of Robb’s magazines and textbooks. 

‘ _Oh_!’ Sansa gasps as the box falls nearly on her feet. ‘Well, maybe he’s on to something.’

Margaery heaves a sigh, eyeing the doorway of Robb’s new flat. He’s only just left to grab the last of his things from the moving lorry on the street below them, so she supposes she has a minute or two to grouse over him. 

‘Seriously,’ she tries to get Sansa’s attention away from hanging a macramé design on his wall. ‘He’s rather grumpy for someone lucky enough to rent out this beautiful flat for his first go at living out on his own. You can even see Kingsland’s skyline from his balcony, and all he’s doing is grumbling about the heat and my snail’s pace at moving his things.’

Sansa dryly replies, ‘You’ve known my brother since we started uni, and somehow you don’t know his favourite pastime is complaining about the city.’

Margaery maneuvers around the other boxes to take her macramé wall hanging down. ‘I _do_ know that _this_ doesn’t seem like his choice of decor...and I guess I thought he’d be over that by now. Doesn’t he want to continue working at the city hospital? I mean, Theon’s working there with him, and he’s already moved here a year ago. Even _you’re_ moving here after we graduate next year. So it’s not as if he’ll be alone in the city.’

‘Sure.’ Sansa finally lifts her contemplative gaze from the decor options she’s brought by the box load for her brother. ‘He’ll come around...he’s just worried about mum.’

‘Oh,’ Margaery says, regretting not making the connection sooner. She’s heard about Catelyn taking care of the family home in Winterfell, along with Bran and Rickon, and she does sympathize with the single mother commuting to Kingsland for stretches at a time for work. If it wasn’t for Arya’s help in taking care of the younger boys, Margaery couldn’t imagine the situation being easy for their family. So, she pushes down her irritation and helps Sansa on her new project of organizing Robb’s cutlery and plates in the kitchen. 

‘Maybe we,’ Margaery says, thinking of Robb, ‘all need a break. I’m starving from all the moving we’ve done. Should I order a pizza?’ 

‘I’d like that,’ Robb says as he comes through his doorway with a large box labelled _bedroom_. When he sets it down, he wipes his forehead of sweat. ‘That’s all of them, and I’ve already paid the delivery man. So, if you don’t mind, Margaery, I’d like to take you up on that offer.’

She kindly smiles, ‘Of course, I’ll call for it now.’

While being placed on hold with the pizza shop, she watches the two siblings bicker about Sansa’s insistence on helping him decorate around the flat to bring _‘pops of colour against all the dreadful grey’_. And as she continues to idly listen to their back and forth, she realizes that it’s not often that she gets to spend time with both Robb and Sansa this way.

Watching them together reminds her of her brothers in Highgarden. Just as Robb and Sansa look very much alike, she’s reminded of often being mistaken as a twin to her brother Loras when they were younger. They’d always get into ridiculous fights too. Her older brothers, however, taller and broader, look less like herself and more like Robb. In fact, if Robb’s hair were just a touch lighter, he could pass for a distant cousin. Her older brothers would never raise a voice to Margaery though, simply because they tended to fall for all her sweet words and the even sweeter faces she’d pull (things that never truly convinced Loras).

Then, Robb’s scowl—brought on by the other knick-knacks Sansa argues to place over his bookshelf—seamlessly turns into laughter and interrupts her thoughts of home. It makes her laugh, and, when he turns to look her way, she mouths her disapproval of Sansa’s decorating too.

She gives Sansa a thumbs down and instantly turns away from her friend's scandalized expression to concentrate on the pizza shop owner coming back on the line. 

By the time the pizza arrives, Sansa puts two of the largest cardboard boxes together while Robb pushes the only couch in the living room toward their makeshift dining table. It’s a two-seater, so, after a few attempts to fit all three of them, Robb offers his seat to Margaery, while he sits on the floor. 

Each of them groans in satisfaction at their first bites and then silently gulp down their drinks. A rhythm that repeats itself after each helping they reach for. 

‘So good—just what I needed,’ Margaery says before quenching her thirst with a long swig of her cider.

‘‘anks again, ‘arga’ee,’ Robb says through his contented chewing, not a trace of his moodiness left from earlier. He washes his food down with his bottle of lager, and then nods to his sister, ‘Sans, pass me another, please.’ 

‘Robb,’ Sansa suddenly starts getting up, eyeing her phone in her grasp. ‘I—erm—need to go. Ramsay’s got something—I just need to go.’ 

‘Er—What’s his problem now?’ Robb asks, his irritation poorly veiled. _If_ it was meant to be veiled at all, Margaery’s not sure. ‘Sans, we were supposed to hang out tonight. Theon promised to take us out too.’

Margaery gives her friend an expectant look, one she hopes is coming across as _‘tell me if you need me’_. 

Sansa, for the past year, had grown to be adept at passing coded looks with Margaery about these things, about _Ramsay_ things. For the most part, Margaery’s been lucky to keep this way of communicating honestly about Sansa’s boyfriend. With her acute attention to detail, Margaery knows Sansa is physically safe, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other things she could be worrying about. 

Tonight, Sansa gives her a look that allows Margaery to sigh in relief. ‘Just tell Ramsay that he’ll need more than your help to pass that exam. And don’t stay up too late, we have that early class tomorrow morning. I better see you back at the dorms by midnight.’

Sansa meaningfully nods at Margaery, another look that tells her that they’ll be staying up well past midnight to complain about Sansa’s boyfriend. ‘Robb, please call me if you need help with anything else... and, Marge, I’ll be back before the pumpkin rots... or the glass slipper falls... or…’

‘Just leave it,’ Robb groans at her cringe-worthy attempts to make them laugh, chucking crumpled napkins her way. 

‘Tosser,’ he scoffs as his door shuts behind Sansa. 

‘He is…’ She agrees. And after Robb gives an appreciative sound, she asks, ‘Doesn’t he have a very… punchable face?’

Robb grins before taking a sip from his bottle again. ‘Theon would agree... and I whole- _fucking_ -heartedly agree.’

‘I’d do it myself if it wasn’t for your sister,’ she admits, and then sips from her drink. 

Robb barks with laughter at that. This wide, boyish smile, one that makes his eyes crinkle, is something she’s only seen on a few occasions, like when Theon’s been around to tell a crude joke. Pride pricks at her to think she’s said something entertaining enough. 

Something that also strikes her is the fact that Theon isn’t around. Neither is Sansa. It suddenly occurs to her that she has never been alone with Robb before. Whenever they had bumped into each other on campus, there was always someone like Theon and Sansa to bridge the gap between their conversations. If she were to make a wager, she’d bet that he was making that same realization, especially with the silence that begins to creep upon them. 

‘So, um…’ he starts but then stops to click his tongue. 

‘Congrats!’ she exclaims, surprising him. ‘Not only have you snagged this fab flat, Sansa tells me you’re starting your residency on Monday.’

‘Cheers,’ he thanks her with a gracious smile. 

‘Is Theon taking you out tonight to celebrate?’ she asks, gesturing for him to take the last slice without a worry. 

He nods and bites into the pizza. ‘Mmhmm.’

‘Sounds fun.’

He swallows a rather large bite and gives her a hesitant glance. ‘Would you—I mean, would you and Dickon like to—you two are still—’

‘Oh,’ she hurriedly says, willing her features to freeze, knowing exactly what Dickon would say. ‘Thanks, but no thanks, he’s busy.’

‘Oh, well, come anyway,’ he says, shrugging. ‘It’s Saturday and I owe you one since you helped with the move.’

‘And pizza.’

‘Pizza and drinks.’

Margaery never considered Sansa’s brother as a persuasive type. When they had first met, he unsuccessfully tried to sway her vote for school prime minister toward a well-mannered, straight-laced Podrick Payne (she favoured and intuitively predicted a landslide win would go with Danaerys Targaryen because of her radical platform). Tonight, however, under his expectant gaze, she finds herself accepting his offer.

* * *

Theon texts Robb just as they cross the street toward the Fox and Fiddle.

‘I’m not celebrating a birthday or a graduation,’ Robb sighs, ‘so I’m not too gutted Sansa left us, but now Theon’s ditched me because he’s apparently horny too.’

‘I had no idea that revising over organic chemistry with Ramsay made your sister horny,’ Margaery teases as they slowly pause at the steps to the pub. 

He groans, ‘Don’t—I—I don’t want to know.’

‘Apparently, you already do,’ she persists, hardly stifling her giggling as she lets people pass by them to get to the pub doors. ‘So…’

He seems to pick up on her prompting, seemingly thinking about what to do next. For someone who she’s only been around enough times to count on a single hand, he seems to be reading her well. And for someone who’s not necessarily responsible for her entertainment tonight, it’s considerate of him. 

‘Well, why not? I still owe you, remember?’ He starts toward the door, motioning her toward it. 

‘Why not?’ she agrees, entering the door he opens for her. 

The crowded pub as well as being forced to squeeze themselves into the tiniest booth near the back had been fine to start their drinks, but, by the third round, Margaery feels herself perspire. And although their cramped quarters certainly compensated for the fairly loud atmosphere, allowing them to hear each other talk, she decides to shed a layer before she gives herself the chance to sweat through all of her clothes.

When she removes her jumper, revealing a simple sleeveless top, she expects the gazes of some of the boys that had leered at her on their way in, but she doesn’t expect to see Robb trying to avert his gaze. If it wasn’t for the dark gloom of the pub, and the steady bloom of pink over his cheeks from the alcohol, she might have been able to tell if he was shamefaced. However, his eyes, still not resting on a comfortable spot in her direction, are what gives him away. 

Margaery’s known her effect on boys and men alike since she was thirteen when she started getting not only more attention but welcomed preferential treatment. In fact, her mother’s always encouraged her to not waste any opportunities afforded to her because of this. So, when Robb drags another lingering gaze away from her bare shoulders, the corners of her lips gently tug upward to think of what to do with _this_ opportunity.

‘Sansa tells me that you and Roslin Frey are dating. Was she invited tonight too?’ Margaery feigns innocent curiosity. 

‘Erm… no,’ he replies, uncomfortable. ‘I wasn’t _really_ dating her. I mean, yes, we’ve gone on a few dates, but… we’re not together.’

Setting her pint glass down, she continues to probe him, ‘Talisa again? You were both at Podrick’s campaign party when I first met you.’

He cocks a brow at her. ‘No. That’s been over longer than Roslin. Why the sudden interest?’

‘It’s interesting because,’ she pauses, ‘you’re a catch, Robb, so I find it hard to believe that you haven’t settled with anyone yet. You’ve always seemed so… in love with both girls.’

She swears she sees a momentary flush deepen the redness on his cheeks. And though he tries to scoff, she beats him to his retort, ‘Or maybe that was the problem.’ 

This seems to trigger him, and his eyes narrow at her, a hint of a smirk on his lips. ‘Or maybe… the problem is… girls in the south.’

She’s momentarily distracted by someone bumping into her shoulder, a boy she doesn’t recognize that seems to think they, in fact, are very familiar with each other. ‘Listen, darling, obviously, you think I’m someone—’

‘Shove off,’ he sharply directs the boy, his glare seemingly clear of any of the haze from their drinking. 

The boy slurs out an apology, ‘Soz, maaate. Not tryin’ to insul’ yer bird. I genuin-errly thou’ she was lookin’ a’ meh like she knew meh.’

Robb doesn’t correct him, and only gestures for him to leave. 

Once the boy hobbles away, she starts up again, trying to pull Robb’s attention away from the drunk idiot. ‘Boys from the north are always such traditionalists. The problem with boys like you is that they all think their ideas about dating are what keeps a girl interested. Opening doors for me and fighting for my honour are nice gestures, but they’re not necessary.’

For a moment, he seems to want to be offended at this, but he submits to laughing instead, ‘The problem with southern girls like you is that you lot think you’re better than everyone else. Did you want me to let you carry on with that pissed bloke? By all means…’

Impressed with his honesty, she challenges, ‘There's a difference between thinking you’re better and knowing you deserve the best. Is there something wrong with a girl who knows what she wants and _how_ she wants it?’

He sputters after taking a sip of his lager, with some of it trickling over his knuckles and spilling toward him. ‘Fucking hell,’ he bursts with laughter, the alcohol clearly curtailing some of his embarrassment.

As he gets up, he tries to wring the bottom of his polo shirt dry, lifting it high enough for Margaery to follow the lines and curves of his toned abs. They must be from the years of football he’s been involved in, remembering Sansa trying and failing to bring her to watch one of his matches. She can’t imagine how he fairs in the sport, but she can easily imagine him distracting her from it. 

When he finally sits down, he doesn’t seem to have noticed her staring so intently under his shirt. However, his oblivious expression shifts, making her wonder if he reads something still lingering in her gaze. It’s her turn to blush, and she’s quite aware of how apparent her flushed cheeks are when they do colour. 

‘You’ll probably have something else to pick apart from what I’m about to say, but,’ he pauses, possibly thinking against himself, ‘if I was Dickon, I would be wondering where you were on a Saturday night.’

‘Boyfriend or not, girls can—’

‘I only meant—look, you’re funny, young,’—She is quick to remind him that she’s only two years younger than him—‘and you’re beautiful. I just meant that _if_ I were Dickon, I’d want to be... with you tonight. I wasn’t trying to offer you a night out to be polite. Honestly, I like your company… but…’

She quickly rushes past the idea of teasing him and making him repeat that he thinks she’s beautiful, having the inkling that he might already find her vain. Instead, she waves down the waitress on her way toward them and asks her to bring them another round. 

‘Well…’ she starts, with the idea of another pint ahead of them making her feel a bit light-headed, ‘Dickon and I broke up a week ago. I don’t know why I lied by not mentioning that earlier—he definitely would not be interested in coming tonight. But... that’s okay... I like the company I’m keeping tonight too.’

He flicks his gaze down at the bottom of his nearly empty glass in his hand, swirling its frothy contents around, smothering a rising burp with a fist. Then, he looks up at her, a smile creeping behind the hand covering his mouth.

He’s more than considerate, she realizes as she locks eyes with him. He doesn’t just open doors and glare at lecherous boys. He willingly takes the blow to every joke about him, and, stubbornly, he won’t take her bait or even offer an inconsequential romp back at his place. 

He’s kind. She shouldn’t be surprised knowing that his sister is the same, but it still surprises her. Or maybe the sudden thrill she feels is closer to something fluttering in her stomach. Despite herself, she wonders if she’s starting to understand the northern appeal. 

‘Right, all the more reason to make the most of tonight,’ he says, and then calls the waitress back to cancel their next round. ‘Forget the drinks. You’ve been friends with Sansa long enough now, so I’m sure you’ve developed a stronger appetite. There’s this chicken shop down the street…’

Again, Margaery finds herself agreeing, and, when he pulls her hand through the crowds and toward the pub’s exit, she doesn’t readily let go of him when they step outside. 

* * *

‘The bit about Garlan being a secret operative for the Kingsguard is the lie— _blech_ , that’s rubbish wine, that,’ Robb gags, passing her the bottle of sparkling rosé they were randomly gifted from bumping into a raucous bachelorette party earlier on their walk. ‘You’re not very convincing when you’re pissed, you know.’

Margaery turns on her seat on the steps to McNeil’s Chicken, feigning outrage. ‘I’ll have you know,’ she stops to hiccup and admit defeat at their game of two truths and one lie to herself, ‘I’m not _that_ pissed.’

His eyes squint as if he were carefully surveying her, leaning in. If they weren’t sitting shoulder to shoulder, the closing distance between them might not seem so small, but, as they do bump shoulders, she realizes that he’s close enough for her to inhale... cologne... scented soap... _something_ intensely heady. 

‘Margaery—can I call you Marge?’ He looks down at his chest, slightly bemused at the sight of both of her hands lying flat against him, but doesn’t stop his train of thought. ‘I do feel bad for catching you in a lie. But, to be fair, you had been winning this game for a long while now—oh sorry.’ 

When he realizes why her hands are splayed firmly across his chest, it’s nearly too late as she gently guides him to sit upright instead of on top of her, and catches the wobbling bottle of wine before it falls and shatters at their feet.

‘Maybe you’re not as pissed as I am,’ he snorts. 

‘Maybe not,’ she says and watches his eyes slowly trail back down to his chest and the way she’s still holding on to him. 

He visibly gulps when his eyes snap back up at her. ‘Marge…’

Why hasn’t she let go of him yet? Was he leaning in again? Was she leaning in toward him?

She falls short of meeting him halfway. Up close, she spots tiny freckles on the bridge of his nose and the faint, flattened smile lines around his mouth and the ones that crinkle near his eyes. Eyes so blue that, on closer inspection, she feels like she’s practically swimming in them.

‘Robb…’ Then, she chances a glance down at his mouth, while feeling rather than seeing his eyes follow her there.

Of course, this is where it was headed. She started the teasing and the flirting, after all. She wanted to see how far he could be pushed, so her hesitation in following through with these plans is as confusing as it is frustrating. Was it just because this was Sansa’s brother? That, in itself, would definitely make things complicated. 

‘Is it Dickon?’ Robb stirs her from her thoughts, and he pulls back by a few inches.

‘It’s—it’s—’ she starts, not knowing how to explain herself.

‘Listen,’ he says and pulls back by a fraction more, frowning, ‘it’s fine. I’m sorry. I completely read that wrong— _shit_ —Sansa’s going to kill—’

‘ _Robb_!’ She yells after he moves to get up too quickly. 

This time, Margaery’s too late to react, grasping at air while he trips over his own feet and kicks the bottle of wine down the same concrete steps he tumbles over. 

One thud, then another, and, finally, the last one against the sidewalk. 

She hears the bottle shatter as she rushes to his side, but she can’t see half the glass shards that fly across the pavement when Robb lands squarely on top of the fizzing mess the bottle leaves behind. 

‘That was... _graceful_ ,’ he groans painfully and lifts himself to sit up. ‘And not at all— _argh_ —embarrassing.’

Some passersby whoop or laugh at his expense. 

‘Don’t move,’ she winces to see a small cut on the side of his forehead. Her fingers are feather-light as they trace its border. ‘Did you hit your head?’

‘No...I think,’ he says, ‘I think I scraped myself against one of the broken glass pieces when I got up.’

His shirt, once pure white, is slick and stuck to his chest with pink liquid. Worriedly, she scans over all the tiny specks of green glass that fall from or stick to him. 

‘Thank the gods,’ she breathes. ‘I don’t see any other bleeding.’

‘I don’t feel like I got cut—’ Then, his eyes go wide as he turns his hands over. 

His right forearm looks unscathed, except for the largest shard of green glass from the broken bottle that’s lodged into him. 

‘Robb, _no_!’ She gasps and clamps both her hands over her mouth.

She nearly yelps through her fingers as he takes a firm hold of the shard and pulls it out, bloodied at nearly two inches from the tip that stuck through him. It looks as long as a pocket knife’s blade. 

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ he groans, and savagely bites down on his bottom lip before chucking the shard toward a nearby trash bin. 

And more blood starts flowing down his arm even as he applies pressure to the wound. 

‘I need help—call—’

She jolts into action, dropping her purse to the pavement, rummaging through her things to find her phone. ‘ _Hello_ ?! Yes… I need help… he’s bleeding loads… yes, I think he might… yes, come right away… of course, we’re on the street in front of McNeil’s… that’s right—the chicken shop… _hurry_!’

He eyes her after she hangs up, and it’s strange that, in this moment, he seems more concerned with her than with himself.

‘It’s okay, I’m going to be fine. The ambulance is just one block from here, and the nearest hospital is only ten minutes away. As long as they get here in time, I’m not going to lose enough blood to lose consciousness yet. At worst,’ he winces in pain as he tears a long strip of fabric from the bottom of his shirt, using it to tightly wrap around his wound. ‘I...may have some nerve damage since it’s not the best area to be stabbed.’

‘There are _good_ areas to be stabbed?’ Her mouth hangs open, staring at him as he expertly ties his makeshift bandage in place with one hand. 

He gestures for help, and she physically shakes herself to move toward him. ‘Here,’ she offers a hand to help him up, bringing his unharmed arm up to wrap around her shoulder as they move to the steps again. 

‘Tell me what else to do,’ she says when they sit back down, fingers nervously drumming across her knees as she pulls them close to her chest. 

He weakly smirks. ‘If anyone asks, tell them a better story than me tripping over myself to get this battle scar.’

The ambulance ride to the hospital is jarring. Each question from the paramedics seems like they’re fired at her, and she tries her best to answer each one without forgetting any details of the accident. Some answers she has to repeat from stumbling over her words. Her anxiousness, she thinks, may come from the fact that she may be the only one worrying.

Meanwhile, Robb is relaxed, lying on the stretcher as the male paramedic next to her patches up his wounded forearm. He even reminisces with amusement, ‘I ended up in the hospital after a date once. She brought me home to meet the family on our third date, and I’m pretty sure her dad tried to poison me during dinner.’ 

‘Roslin?’ she guesses, dragging her gaze away from the white gauze on Robb’s arm, an oblong-shaped spot of blood staining its middle. ‘Is that why you two never—’

‘Yea,’ he says, nodding. ‘Other than her dad possibly feeding me undercooked meat, which gave me hallucinations, Roslin and I never really got on very well.’

Then, the male paramedic’s questions turn toward Robb. After checking for any signs of a head injury, the next line of questioning seems to shift his demeanour completely. 

‘Are you on any medication? History of any medication?’

‘I—erm—I stopped taking anti-anxiety meds, Xanax, as of a couple weeks ago,’ all the lightness of his mood from earlier seems to have noticeably dissipated from his reply. It’s this way that he confesses, and the way he seems to abruptly sober, that makes her feel her own buzz leaving her. 

‘Was also on and off them as a kid,’ he adds. 

Margaery’s not particularly put off by this answer; Loras’ stint in the hospital for alcohol poisoning and the subsequent psychotherapy sessions she’s helped bring him to were never things she shied from. However, Robb doesn’t know about any of that, and, from his evasive gaze, he doesn’t seem ready to delve too much into whatever he’s thinking about. 

Then, the female paramedic on the opposite bench from Margaery asks her, ‘Are you his girlfriend?’

‘Erm, no,’ Margaery answers. Then, suddenly, ‘Just a friend.’

Robb continues to keep his eyes averted from her and, though he has no reason to be upset over the truth, she bites at the bottom of her lip at his strained expression anyway. 

The rest of the ride to the hospital is quiet, except for the sounds of the road, the paramedics' idle chit chat, and the sounds of blood pressure cuff that seems to be automatically turning on and off to monitor Robb.

So, it catches her off guard when Robb finally speaks as they pull up to the emergency entrance of the hospital. ‘Maybe I could persuade you to tell people that I fought for your honour, even if you don’t believe in that sort of thing.’

Because he’s finally facing her, with the return of that eye-crinkling smile, and maybe because he still can’t help but find humour through this entire ordeal, she can’t deny him. ‘Just for you, Robb.’ 

The next hour seems like a frenzied blur. Margaery tries to keep up with the doctors and residents that receive them, but Robb’s medical school training allows him to freely talk about things that go right over her head. The only thing she realizes she can do is to follow him being carted to the surgical unit, and school her features to appear calm when they say things like, ‘nearly nicked the arterial’, ‘we’ll have to operate’, and ‘you’ll probably keep the arm’.

‘You don’t have to—you might be here for ages—’ he starts by the time he’s being called to surgery, seemingly more unsure of imposing on her time than the surgery itself. 

‘Of course, I will,’ she says firmly before he can protest, smiling as wide and as kindly as she can. ‘When you wake up, we’ll have to get our stories straight before we tell anyone about your grand romantic gesture for me.’ 

With that, Robb smiles back at her before he’s guided away by a resident doctor. 

* * *

Margaery opens her eyes to find Robb desperately trying to turn down the volume of the television of his hospital room. 

‘Sorry, love,’ he apologizes, finally getting the remote to cooperate and lower the volume of the football match he was watching. ‘I didn’t mean for you to wake up.’

Margaery stretches over the uncomfortable chair she had curled up in to sleep by his bedside. ‘What time is it?’ she yawns, rubbing her eyes. 

‘Half-past three,’ he says, shifting to sit further up the elevated head of the bed. ‘If you get me my phone over there, I can ring up Theon to take over for you and drive me home after this. It’s about another five hours before they can discharge me.’

She shakes her head, ignoring his gestures to his phone on the table by the door, standing up to reach the pillow under his head. 

Of course, she realizes, he was thinking of her needs before his own again. So, she teases him by asking, ‘Are you trying to get rid of me, Robb?’ 

‘No…’ he guiltily says as she fluffs his pillow to help him sit up straighter.

‘Good.’ Content with his upright position, she sits back down. 

The fluorescent lights above his bed could easily make him look repellant, with a white-blue cast over skin to make him look sickly, accenting a sour expression and attitude that wouldn’t help his circumstances. 

But Robb looks comfortable and undeniably thrilled that she’s staying. ‘You seem pretty calm for someone who saw me nearly crack my head open and accompany me to get emergency surgery. I know I’m sort of used to this place, but are you okay?’

‘I am,’ she says. ‘I—my older brother Willas got into a car accident when he was about our age. He almost died and was even in an induced coma for a bit. I visited him every day until he woke up. I’m very familiar with hospitals, I guess.’

He looks contemplative when he nods. ‘That’s rough. I’m sorry your family had to go through that. Is he—’

‘He’s doing well, but he had lost the function of his left leg from the accident.’ 

She watches him process this, and she wonders if his quiet contemplation is a sign of more guilt starting to settle with the rest of his stubbornly conscientious feelings. His fingers even trace the borders of his wound dressing, hiding the successfully sutured laceration. Post-surgery, the doctors even mentioned no sign of any nerve damage. 

Was he seriously worried about her feelings toward being at the hospital? Was he worried about her over his own well-being again? _Gods_ , were all the Starks like this? 

‘Robb,’ she says. ‘My brother’s also got a successful animal shelter business in Highgarden, and is very happily married with kids, by the way.’

‘Right,’ he says, nodding.

‘About...earlier...when you said you _were_ on meds.’ She gauges his reaction, and so far he seems calm enough for her to continue. ‘I just wanted to let you know that I can’t imagine how you must feel about any of that, but I know my brother, Loras, had to go through something very similar with therapy and meds. And if you feel ashamed—’

‘I’m not,’ he says straight away. ‘It’s just...not something I’m used to talking about. My mum thought it would be best if I had _something_ after my dad died. It helped for a while, but I stopped before seventh year. I recently tried to start up with them again, to help with some of my anxiety for work, but, just like before, the side effects always end up making it worse for me.’ 

She nods, thinking of Loras and his similar thoughts on side effects, especially with the fact that they nearly cost him his auditions for drama school. 

‘Talking helps,’ she says. ‘My brother loves to emote on stage, so I suppose it’s lucky that his therapist encouraged him to do the same in his sessions.’

He nods as if he understands, yet he seems hesitant too. ‘If I had a patient with my history, with my symptoms, I’d tell them to take the medications and to talk too. But the talking bit has always been a problem for men in my family...It must be disappointing to hear that I’m not the type to practice what I preach.’

‘You want to be a doctor, and doctors are not made perfectly.’

‘I can try to be someone that has strong convictions and lives by them.’ 

She simply smiles at this, leaving him looking confused. ‘Even when you admit your faults, you still seem too good to be true,’ she tells him. 

He looks down, scratching at the front of his hospital gown, blushing faintly. 

It strikes her, with the most laughable, inconvenient timing, that she should've kissed him on the steps of McNeil’s. She wanted to. But, because she hesitated then and so curtly denied dating him to the paramedics, she realizes a crucial flaw to her usual schemes of teasing and flirting. These games were only fun when they didn’t involve her becoming the one affected in the end. 

‘Margaery?’ he tries, waving a hand in front of her fixed gaze.

‘Water! Water?’ She offers brightly and gets up to find his large styrofoam cup of ice water before he can deny it.

‘Erm—yea, thanks,’ he says, taking the cup from her. 

After a few sips and a few furtive glances her way, he shifts in his bed, suddenly looking uncomfortable. ‘I should—I want to apologize for earlier. At McNeil’s, I shouldn’t have tried to—you obviously didn’t—’

‘I did...want to,’ she interrupts, her heart skipping a beat. 

He smiles at this, looking relieved too. ‘Good—I mean, I could blame that shite wine, but I’d be lying if I didn't admit how attracted I am to you. I am...and I have sort of...always been attracted to you.’

This was it. This is what she wanted to hear, expected to hear. Except, there was something else that ruled over her conscience. 

_Fucking hospitals._ If there was a place in the world that made her lose her edge or her nerve, this is where it would be. And she wills the images of Willas and Loras away.

‘If I,’ she starts, consciously aware of how mad she must seem for not expressing how thrilled she is by his confession, ‘didn’t lead you on as much as did tonight, would you still be saying any of this?’

He places his cup on top of his bedside table, frowning to think on her words. ‘I’m sorry, but what are you trying to say?’

‘My mother used to tell me that I have a unique _gift_ ,’ she explains first. ‘She used to say my eyes would be able to make people adore me in less time than it would take them to know my name.’

He nods at this. ‘Well, beautiful people tend to attract people without trying. You can’t really help that, can you? I noticed that...Last night, eyes just tended to follow you without much effort.’

‘I _do_ try, Robb,’ she says, biting down on her lip. ‘All it takes is a look or a small smile. I know how good I am at it. And since I was younger, I haven’t been able to help my wanting this attention.’

‘That’s...okay. Who doesn’t like attention sometimes?’

‘It’s manipulative.’

‘You’re aware of it, at least.’

She huffs, not frustrated with him, but with having to explain something she’s never told out loud before. Not even to Sansa.

‘Dickon and I broke up because he was constantly jealous. He would notice the way I was around other boys, and he called me out on it constantly. It drove him mad, and I never explained myself before I broke up with him. Awful... isn’t it?’

It’s funny how little she knew of him at the beginning of the day. Now, with the new day creeping forward, she feels as though she understands something as intimate as his careful pauses and the way he contemplates his next words. This might not have always been for her sake. She wonders if this is just how he tends to be. Whatever he had to say next, she’d expect that he would be honest with her. 

‘Maybe it takes the right person to confide in,’ he says diplomatically.

She’s fine with that answer, she supposes, but it still doesn’t answer the one that’s been brushed aside, the one that asks how he feels about her now. It’s maddening how much she craves his opinion of her. ‘You’re right. Then again, maybe I’ll always just be good at playing my little games, make a living out of having people adore me or the work I do, and just be content with that. Gran says there’s always a need for people like me.’

He gives her a sympathetic look, but, thankfully, he's not completely piteous-looking. 

She adds, ‘I know that I’m a decent person, don’t get me wrong. I know I don’t use people or leave them to bleed out in front of chicken shops…’—Robb hums in amusement—‘...I guess, it just makes me a questionable choice as a girlfriend.’

‘I think…’ he says, ‘you’re a _good_ person, and even good people are not made perfectly.’

She smirks to hear her words echo back at her, and reaches over to take a sip of water from his cup. 

He eyes the way she drinks from his water, and he seems uncomfortable again. ‘Could I... ask a favour?’

‘Sure.’

‘Still feel a bit weak and I need help getting to the toilet,’ he says.

‘Of course,’ she says, getting up and helping him swing his legs to the side of the bed. 

They make it to the bathroom with some of his weight pressed against her side, his arm slung around her shoulder, with one of her hands cinching the hospital gown’s backside closed.

Before he enters the bathroom he pauses as if bracing himself, and he turns to her. ‘I know this isn’t a date. But, _if_ it were, it feels like we’ve somehow fast-forwarded through the highlights of getting to know one another to find out the most vulnerable parts of us.’

‘I’m most proud of the fact that I got you half-naked at the end of the night.’ She winks at him, revelling in that bright laughter she first got out of him from his flat.

While she waits by the door, she nearly jumps to hear his phone’s ringtone reverberating throughout his room. 

‘It’s Sansa. _Finally_.’ She tells him loudly through the bathroom door. 

‘You can answer that, she must be going hysterical waking up to our voicemails and texts in the middle of the night.’ His laugh rumbles behind the door. 

‘Yea, he’s fine,’ she assures her friend’s nervous questions over the phone. ‘He’s just recovering... yes, he’ll be discharged in about two hours... okay see you then.’

He emerges from the bathroom, asking for a hand back to the bed. ‘Thank you—’

‘Sansa says she’ll be here before you get discharged but,’ she says, grabbing him to steady his gait. Then, she stops short of the foot of his bed. ‘I have an idea…’

‘Hmm?’ 

‘We have about a few more hours of the best non-date I’ve ever been on. Forgive me if I seem a bit selfish, but I want to make the most of our time together.’

As soon as he nods in approval, she helps him toward the wheelchair at the side of his bed.

* * *

In the hospital’s courtyard, they sit side by side on a bench next to a trellis of roses and the only bit of the courtyard that’s in range of the glare from the emergency department’s glowing red sign. The most romantic part of the courtyard, she says to make Robb laugh again. 

‘Here.’ He presents a spoonful of vanilla pudding from the end of his plastic cup. The only thing he seemed to be tolerating from his hospital meal. 

Margaery leans in, licking at his spoon and smiling up at him. 

‘Your mum’s right,’ he dramatically sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. ‘I shouldn’t look directly into them.’

She bats her eyes at him until he takes a peek, laughing. ‘It really does work, doesn’t it?’

‘Absolutely stunning,’ he agrees, grinning. This smile, though, falters a little. He’s clearly tired. It reminds her that they’ve been through— _he’s_ been through—more than she could possibly handle.

‘So… this is your life starting Monday. Blood and gore. Life and death stakes. Hours of back-breaking work.’

He pulls a face. ‘You make working in a hospital sound like war.’

‘It seems pretty intense from my perspective,’ she says, bumping shoulders with him. 

‘It is exhausting… and exciting… and rewarding.’ He nods, then he gives her an appraising look. 

‘What? Do I have something on my face?’ She asks, self-conscious of her hair which was definitely feeling flatter and of the dark circles she glanced at from her small compact mirror earlier.

‘So what if you’re good at getting people to like you?’ He shrugs his shoulders. ‘So what if it’s because you play up your smiles and your eyes?’

She shrugs. ‘Yes, well, Gran says it’s not something that’s easily taught and would compliment my communications degree. She says I’d do really well with public relations.’ 

‘Aye, I wouldn’t doubt that you’d well, you’re too clever not to,’ he agrees, but shakes his head, ‘but… that stuff… it’s not so bad, not to me, anyway… especially because... you _do_ those things, but you're _not_ those things. D'you know what I mean?'

She slowly nods, softly smiling. 

'I—erm—also never answered your question about whether or not I’d be put off by you based on what I know now.’

‘Oh,’ she says, feeling self-conscious again.

She had wondered if he had changed his mind, if he was now only indulging her. Maybe they could forget their night together and forget about their almost kiss too...

‘Margaery,’ he says quietly. 

‘You asked me if you could call me Marge,’ she corrects him, and tries to find her teasing tone, but can’t seem to fully commit to it.

‘ _Marge_ …’ He smiles. 

As if it had crept upon them, a glimmering, orange horizon starts to cast a glow behind him. The clouds above them are dipped with the same warm hue. Yet another reminder of their extraordinary day escaping them. 

‘Yes?’ she asks, feeling another skipped heartbeat.

He leans toward her and, this time, she invites him closer, curling a hand over his jaw. His lips gently brush over hers. Then, inviting him closer still, her lips slightly part to take in a breath before she melts into his kiss. 

Breathing in, she still faintly smells that heady scent of his, and her head swims.

‘That was—’ he says as he pulls away too soon. At least, she’s of the opinion that it was too soon, even if she wouldn’t be able to tell how long they had been wrapped up in their kiss.

‘Lovely.’ She curls her lips back, still feeling them tingling as she bites down.

‘Robb! Margaery!’ Sansa suddenly materializes out of nowhere, huffing toward them and looking completely oblivious to their stiff postures and crossed arms. 

Then, Robb attempts to wrap his robe tighter around his gown and holds fast to the IV pole to stand up from his seat. ‘Hey, Sans!’

‘No, no,’ Sansa tells him, gesturing to sit on the wheelchair she pulls from the side of the bench. 

‘We have to sign him out on the third level.’ Margaery informs her as they all start toward the hospital entrance.

‘ _You_!’ Sansa nearly jabs a finger at her, almost looking as though she were about to place some blame on her. ‘Thank the gods you were able to get him help. From Robb’s texts, it sounded like an awful accident that could have gotten a lot more serious…Anyway, it’s funny because I was fuming, thinking you took up with stupid Dickon again instead of meeting me at the dorms like you promised. Oh—’

‘It’s okay, I told Robb all about that. It’s fine.’

He gives her a cursory glance, then strains to smile up at his sister. Margaery has to bite down on her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing, thinking of him in any situation that would demand him keeping secrets. 

‘He doesn’t seem Marge’s type anyway,’ he seems to try a noncommittal tone that doesn’t sound even a bit convincing to Margaery.

Pressing the handicap button to enter the hospital, Sansa proudly smiles at her brother. ‘Exactly. Also, did Marge tell you that I’ve been trying to set her up? I mean, not that she needs help there, but still… sometimes the guys she's picked have never appreciated—’

‘How brilliant she is,’ he helps. 

‘Yup.’ Sansa nods. 

‘How funny she is…’

‘She is!'

‘Sansa…’ Margaery helps with Robb’s IV pole from getting stuck on the ramp toward the elevators. ‘I told you I’m not dating anymore of the people you’ve been—’

‘Like who?’ Robb interjects quickly and clears his throat. ‘I mean, I could help with… I know people.’

Sansa gives him a skeptical look, but relents, ‘Harry Hardying.’

Margaery scoffs, ‘ _You_ like him.’

‘Trystane Martell.’

Robb shakes his head from laughing. ‘Stuffs his jockstrap before football matches.’

‘That’s… disturbing.’ Sansa scrunches her nose. ‘What about Samwell Tarly? He’s very sweet.’

‘He’s very sweet on Gilly, you mean,’ Margaery sighs, letting them go through the elevator doors before her. 

‘I really don’t think he could keep up with her either,’ Robb reasons as well. 

‘Are you two in on this? In cahoots?’ Sansa crosses her arms.

Margaery giggles and mouths _cahoots_ to him, making him laugh.

Sansa appears to give in to their teasing and lets the matter rest, pressing the button to close the elevator doors for them. 

Then, Robb throws another meaningful glance toward Margaery, while seemingly addressing his sister. ‘I think...whenever Margaery decides to start dating someone, someone lucky enough, it would have to be someone who makes her feel like she can have faults...and someone who doesn’t get in the way of whoever she wants to be...someone who definitely would have to keep up and be okay with being called on their faults too.’

Sansa’s mouth falls open, scrutinizing him or possibly getting ready to accuse him of something. Then, she grabs the IV bag and inspects it, ‘This is just normal saline, right? You’re—’ Sansa pauses to laugh at him. ‘You’re going to have to sleep off whatever they gave you.’

‘I don’t know, Sans,’ Margaery says, amused, ‘this _someone_ sounds quite alright.’

‘Right, I’m quite done with both of you now.’ Sansa shakes her head. ‘I’m not leaving you two alone again if it just leads to emergency visits and ganging up on me like this.’ 

Margaery winks down at Robb, fully aware of the fact that she’s flushing from his fixed gaze on her. And fully on board with switching her plans of shamelessly flirting with the eldest Stark to finding reasons to simply kiss him senseless instead. 

_**tbc** _


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Always, always, always thankful that I have betas that push and encourage me. Thank you [Felicia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/treaddelicately/pseuds/treaddelicately) and [Kristin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourtoxic_valentine/pseuds/yourtoxic_valentine), you're both rockstars for seeing me through this to the end!  
> 2) This is the final installment. Crazy that we're here, and you're here reading this! Thank you for sticking it out, guys =)

_Love me when the morning comes_

_I've been dreaming that you love me when the fighting_

_Love me when the fighting's done_

_I Believe in Us - LEON_

**ROBB**

Deceivingly warm, morning light filters through the blinds of Robb’s bedroom, a light that casts over his eyes to remind him that he’s back to his waking life. Outside, he knows the weather is not as forgiving as his comfortable, sunlit bed. From the bustling city noises on the ground level below his flat, he imagines people burying their faces in their scarves and turning up the collars of their jackets as they dart from building to building, getting ready for New Year’s Eve. 

He, on the other hand, is trying to lie very still, hoping the warmth of his bed lulls him back to sleep. Back to Margaery. When he closes his eyes, he can almost pull himself back to his dream that seemed to imitate the real memory of his first night alone with her. It’s a memory that he could perfectly recount, vividly remembering her eyes, washed with a sunrise glow, watching him before he first kissed her. But this dream, one that captures this moment, mingles with other conjured up images. They leave him wanting to dwell on them longer. 

Margaery tucks a wayward lock of hair behind her ear in the same way he remembers intently watching her do at the Fox and Fiddle, and then her fingers suddenly card through his hair while they make love in a bedroom he’s not familiar with. Then, his first kiss with Margaery transforms into her kissing the forehead of a baby she cradles in her arms. Margaery is everywhere behind his closed lids, continually shifting from scene to scene. 

Even when Sansa and Theon drop by his flat later in the morning, he nearly compels himself to close his eyes and recall this dream all over again, regardless of how the images would likely be even more brittle and frayed around their edges than before.

‘You could ring her up to see if she’ll be here in time for Theon’s New Year’s party,’ Sansa offers, seemingly wary of Robb drifting from their conversation. Though Theon reminds her that _‘it’s more of a small, get-together’_.

‘Oh, well, we’ll see…’ Robb actually doesn’t know when Margaery will return. After their last conversation, another one directly after he had promised to pull enough money together to float her firm, he hadn’t the slightest clue if they’d see each other before the new year. The only thing he was certain of was that his offer got her on a train back to Stormsend early so she could finally pack up her things from Renly’s, which meant that she’d soon be on her way back to Kingsland. In his excitement, he didn’t think to ask her about her holiday plans. 

‘Bit daft to not ask her before she left, mate,’ Theon bluntly observes, trying to ignore Sansa’s reprimanding look as she passes both of them a cup of coffee. ‘What? She could be put off by Robb not asking or—’

‘Don’t worry about that, Robb,’ she assures him, trying on a bright smile. ‘She’s moving back. This is _good_ news. You’ll have plenty of time to talk and work things out later.’

‘Right—and all that money you offered—she’s probably more than grateful,’ Theon says, and then drinks from his mug.

‘Erm… she did mention that we should think of it as more of a… loan,’ Robb says, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

He doesn’t want to, but he thinks of a new perspective on Margaery’s plans, one that favoured her coming back to Kingsland for her business, but didn’t necessarily imply she would be coming back for their relationship. 

Theon’s first opinion and Sansa’s steadily rising, high-pitched tone, clearly indicating her overcompensating for this conversation, takes on a new meaning, but Robb wills himself to find a distraction from his oversight of Margaery’s return. A possibly heart-wrenching oversight...

Then, abruptly, he tries, ‘You two are the new couple. New and shiny and probably _still_ scheming behind my back. Giv’us some ideas to win over Margaery then.’

Theon and Sansa have the decency to look startled, and, from their abrupt, stiff postures, Robb suspects that they might be pulling their hands away from each other from where they sit behind his kitchen counter. Across from them, Robb folds his arms to his chest, straining to keep a reserved expression while he watches them squirm. If it wasn’t for all of their secrets, he might find their uneasiness endearing.

‘Go on then,’ he presses them, hiding a smile while he sips from his mug.

‘Ring her up.’ ‘Surprise her.’ Both Theon and Sansa’s answers overlap.

‘Invite her over to talk.’ ‘Surprise her at the train station.’ Again, both Theon and Sansa interrupt each other.

‘Yara said he’d make a scene on the platform.’ Theon rolls his eyes. ‘It’s—’ 

‘Absolutely the kind of thing Robb would do for Margaery,’ Sansa tells Theon as if challenging him to argue with her. 

‘Or something embarrassing that he’ll regret, just like my sister’s already brought up to him.’

They both turn toward Robb, seeking his input. Sansa, more than Theon, looks like she’s won some sort of debate. 

Then, suddenly, Theon adds, ‘ _Sansa_ , what if it backfires? What if the surprise is a bit too much to process, considering all the surprises they’ve both had to go through since she got here?’

Sansa simply utters, ‘ _Theon_.’ As if he should know better. He was the one that started all of _this_. 

After a beat of awkward silence, where his sister and friend share furtive glances, Robb finally wedges in. ‘Alright, both of you have got good ideas that I’ll keep in mind, but you can calm down now. I only meant to wind you up. I’m not trying to break you two up before you even get started.’

‘Oh.’ Sansa bites down on her bottom lip at Robb’s joke, while failing to stop Theon from flicking his coffee stirrer at Robb. ‘We are a bit on edge today…’

Theon nods in agreement. ‘It’s my mum. She’ll be coming over tonight for New Year’s. Hence… the small gathering.’

Robb’s teasing expression softens. ‘You’ve always meant to reach out to her... that’s great… tonight will be great for both of you.’ 

Theon smiles. ‘Yea, I think it will be. She seems well chuffed about it. I... I know her coming over isn’t a surprise, considering Sansa helped plan everything… ‘suppose I’m just nervous.’

Sansa hugs Theon from his side, her bright smile coaxing out one of his own. So much so that he’s practically beaming at his sister. It would be the perfect moment to spoil for them, to exercise his right as an older brother to say something as he’s done without hesitation on several occasions with her other boyfriends, but he can’t even find it in himself to grunt in annoyance. 

Maybe it’s because he always gives in to see Sansa smile this way. Maybe it’s because of the earnestness in Theon’s smile. It might also be because of the sudden pang of longing from watching them, longing to be just as sure and happy as they look, instead of chasing after happiness in his dreams.

‘Hey, so,’ Theon says, gesturing aimlessly, ‘if you still want to stop by my place, you’re more than welcome to. I just thought—’

‘‘S’fine... leave it, mate,’ he says, waving off this offer. ‘I should probably sort out my own plans tonight... and make a phone call.’

Theon slightly twists in Sansa’s arms just then, poorly hiding a satisfied smirk.

* * *

He can’t help leaving Margaery a long-winded voicemail by midday. There was talk about the week-long weather advisory disrupting some of the train lines. So, he asked her to be careful if she planned on travelling this week. Then, he rambled on and on about Theon’s New Year’s plans, about how proud he was of his friend, and about how happy Sansa was. But there wasn’t a single invitation to talk or offer to meet tonight. 

Ending his voicemail mid-sentence, an automated voice cuts him off, leaving him sighing with the dial tone in his ear. 

_Fuck’s sake_ , he curses inwardly. 

Looking around his office, his eyes flit from his paperwork to the window overlooking the internal medicine unit, where some passing nurses looked idle and his residents seemed to be fairly autonomous. No one seemed to be bothered to seek him out for assistance. Clearly, he had time to call Margaery again, to add a clearer message about what he really wanted from her tonight. He wanted to see her. 

_What the hell is stopping you then?_

‘Robb Stark,’ he hears a voice from his open doorway, one he recognizes before he even looks up.

‘Olenna,’ he says, looking up at the sharply-dressed, elderly woman. And before he can properly greet her, she interrupts him. 

‘Sit, young man,’ she bristles at him attempting to get up, settling in the seat opposite of him. She removes her woolly hat, dusts off fresh snowflakes that still lay atop it, and adjusts the toggles of her long coat without untying them as if she were ready to leave him for the cold soon. She must have come straight from outside and most likely ignored anyone who questioned her being here. However quickly she came to him, he’s sure she would not be wasting any time. 

‘Do you love my granddaughter?’ She asks, primly folding her fingers over the edge of his desk as she leans forward.

He’s not surprised by the question, but he’s immediately brought back to a memory of Margaery introducing her and her asking this very same question. So, it feels odd to be repeating something she should already know. ‘I do,’ he says.

She scoffs. Leave it to the Tyrell family’s matriarch to react this way. Much like her granddaughter, she leaves him feeling the pressure of wanting to prove himself to a force of a woman.

‘If I didn’t love her, why did I decide to help support her firm?’ He challenges her, the steady beat of his heart perceptibly starts to pick up. ‘Why am I still waiting for her to come home, knowing she could change her mind again?’

‘That’s the problem though,’ she says, leaning back into her seat, resting her hands in her lap. ‘The waiting bit. What _are_ you waiting for?’

‘Well, I’m not _just_ waiting, I spoke to her once I got back after Christmas,’ he explains. ‘It’s just… I haven’t exactly gotten the chance to properly tell her—’

‘Excuse,’ she quickly snaps back.

‘Well, I didn’t want to bombard her with messages after we talked over Christm—’

‘Excuse.’

‘I’ve been told that if I say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing, she—’

‘Excuse.’

‘I really can’t think straight when you say—‘

‘Excuse,’ Olenna repeats. There’s a quirk at the side of her mouth, the beginning of a smirk, a habitual thing that reminds him of why so many people think that she and Margaery share an uncanny resemblance. This smirk really meant that he should quit while he’s ahead. 

Admitting defeat to her, he also recalls, means asking for her help. He relents, ‘What should I do?’

‘Well since you’ve got the sense to ask,’ she begins, amused, ‘you should apologize for not coming to me sooner. How on earth would you imagine getting better advice about Margaery?’

He lets out an equal measure of both laughter and scoffing at this. As intimidating as the older woman was, he always appreciated her snark.

‘Olenna…’

‘Don’t tell me you’re still listening to what that Greyjoy boy has to say on this subject.’ Then, she gives a thoughtful pause, observing, ‘However, from what I hear, he’s not only managed to lure Margaery back to town, but he’s also gotten your sister to fall for his crude sensibilities. Maybe he’s not the simpleton I took him for.’

‘Olenna, I know you mean well—’

‘I _mean_ to tell you that I took you for someone more passionate than this. My granddaughter used to tell me all sorts about you, and I’ve seen how much you care for her, but this is not how I imagined you’d be. I’ve spoken to her myself, and she tells me that, other than the money, you haven’t offered her much else. Why do you insist on being stagnant?’

His initial reaction is to be defensive, but he wills himself to give the answer he suspects she’s looking for, something he’s been slowly realizing and avoiding to confess out loud. ‘I might be... more terrified than I thought I was, terrified that this second chance we have might not work out.’

A seemingly long beat passes between them, where Olenna’s eyes narrow slightly as if she were weighing his words. Then, thankfully, she seems pleased to say, ‘Good.’ 

‘Good?’ he repeats, confused.

‘So is she. If you two aren’t feeling the least bit of fear for how fragile your relationship is at the moment, then I’d say you two would be idiots. With that said… I still managed to knock some sense into her because I didn’t help raise a shrinking violet. I’ve convinced her to come home early to work this out with you. She’ll be travelling by train, and should be here by midnight. So… what will you be doing tonight, Stark?’

The moment he starts to feel his jaw slacken, he forces himself to keep it in place. Instead, this news gives way to offering his own lopsided grin. ‘I… shouldn’t keep her waiting.’

If she didn’t burst into his office today, he’s sure he’d eventually come to this conclusion. But she always had a knack for lighting fires under unsuspecting arses, and being on the receiving end of any of her piercing looks also tended to be extremely effective in getting any job done. 

Her thin lips slowly curl at the corners. ‘Very good.’

As swiftly as she came to sit down, she gets up in the same way, fixing her hat over her grey, elegantly curled bob. ‘I should be going.’

He stands up at this and then moves with her as they cross the room toward his doorway. ‘I… I’m sorry you had to come all this way to essentially scold me, Olenna.’

‘Ha!’ She nearly cackles at him, turning just before she reaches the door’s threshold. ‘I didn’t come from Highgarden _just_ to see you. I have many correspondents in Kingsland from my days working in parliament that I’m engaged to see today. And it’s bloody New Year’s. I may be old, but I’m no corpse yet.’

He winces, trying to apologize as he holds the door open for her. 

‘Tosh,’ she dismisses him, a genuine, nose-wrinkling smile spreads across her face. ‘Of course, I’d do anything to help my only granddaughter… I forgot how fun it is to tease you. That… among a _great_ deal of other reasons is why you’ve always been my favourite.’

‘You must say that about all of Marge’s—’

‘Never. You know I don’t waste my time making nice with everyone I meet,’ she strikes his comment down without hesitation. ‘Gods, you’re so much like your father this way.’

He instantly frowns. ‘You knew him?’

‘Of course, I knew the honourable fool…’ Her eyes look kindly upon him. ‘I don’t have to tell you about the legacy your father has as your hometown’s councillor, I’m sure your mother told you all about that. What your mother might not have told you are the many times he’s knocked down anyone off their high horse when it was necessary, especially any of the big wigs in parliament. When I was working as a clerk, I was witness to how capable and clever he was… yet he didn’t understand how to gloat about it or how to properly use these skills. In my opinion, he could have furthered his position, but he was too humble to a fault. Much like you are. Still, I can never dispute his impact… and that he was a kind man, a good man. Like _you_.’

He mulls over her words. He always had memories of his father that he could go back to from time to time, but he was always welcome to new ones. ‘Thanks, Olenna…’

She gives his free hand a squeeze, tucking a piece of paper between his fingers as she does so. 

‘What’s—’

‘I trust that whatever you decide to do with this… it won’t bring me back here, making me do something far worse than scolding,’ she says, mirth still dancing in her eyes. 

As she finally says goodbye and makes her way toward the exit of his floor, he looks down at her scribbled note.

_Kingsland Station. Southern Express - Kingsland. Platform 11b. Arrives 23:00._

* * *

There were a few things Robb was certain of at this point. After his shift at the hospital, he had a few hours before Margaery would be arriving in Kingsland. He knew that she was coming to speak to him about their relationship. He also knew that it was a mistake to tell Theon about this news since he currently had over a dozen unanswered texts, from both him and Sansa, wondering what he would do or say. Were they not busy with their own plans for New Year’s? 

The only thing he wasn’t certain of was Margaery’s motivations tonight. She certainly accepted his help with her business, but his thoughts drift back to her suggestion to pay him back as if it were a loan. Did this suggest that their time together was on loan? Was this act of kindness going to be their last connection before they completely went separate ways? Was their one night of impulsive, yearning fucking in the lift of her building the last time they’d touch each other? Was she going to take back her wishes to stay in his life for good?

As much as Sansa, Theon, and Olenna seemed to encourage him with their opinions of how she felt, there wasn’t a guarantee of what Margaery truly wanted. 

So, on his way to the train station, he stands in front of the floral section of a 24-hour grocery store, helplessly feeling the pressure of all the competing voices in his head, and none louder than the conjured up voice of Margaery, telling him that she loved him… or… that they should end things. Staring at the sad selection of carnations and poorly arranged bouquets left behind at the end of the day, he feels his mind being pulled between alternating directions of hope and fear.

‘Something for your missus?’ An elderly man stirs him out of his thoughts, and he gestures at his name tag to show Robb that he’d be the person to ask about any of his floral needs in the store. 

‘Erm…’

‘Here, lad,’ he offers, handing him a bouquet of white lilies, a decent arrangement he hadn’t noticed brought out from under the other wilting bouquets. ‘Something to symbolize rebirth… fitting for the new year. Bet your lass would appreciate that. It’s a romantic notion, don’t you think?’

_You romantic sap_ , Yara would love to say.

Distracted, he barely lifts his eyes from the lilies as he pays for them. ‘Ta,’ he thanks the man, and finds himself with a new voice in his head as he leaves the store. 

Rebirth...fitting for the new year… For his relationship with Margaery, perhaps? Did everyone have an opinion or a pearl of wisdom for him today? 

> **Theon** : don’t forget to tell Margaery that you’re meeting her. i know ur thinking it, mate, but you’ll only shoot yourself in the foot if you dont give her a heads up.

Robb grumbles when he feels his mobile vibrating in his trouser pocket after this text, and, as he sets foot on the bus, he knows that whatever else Theon had to add to his last text would not be too dissimilar. As he settles down on the back of the bus, he finds his mobile again to see that Sansa is texting him with more contradictory ideas about what he should be doing at the train station.

‘Shut it,’ he hisses at his mobile, and, without thinking too much on it, he turns off his phone. 

Looking down at his watch, he notices that he has another hour and a half before Margaery arrives. And if he were to not surprise her, as Theon kept advising, he could simply ring her up to let her know that he’s offering to meet her and help her with her luggage. He will, of course. However, for now, he decides he’ll take his time to find respite from all the voices in his head, including the virtual ones. Just for a little while.

Except his mind persists. _What are you_ ** _still_ **_waiting for?_

He could have spoken to her, texted her, earlier in the day, but he was now waiting until the last hour to do so. For… what? Was he really going to struggle all the way to the train station?

‘Excuse me,’ a middle-aged man sitting next to him gets his attention. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t realized the man had sat next to him. Looking at him now, Robb notices a sheen of sweat along his forehead. ‘D’ya mind cracking the window open, lad.’

‘It’s freezing—are you feeling alright?’ Robb surveys the man as he starts to shed all his layers of an overcoat, a woolly vest, and unbuttons his collared shirt. ‘It’s quite cold in—’

‘Arrgh,’ the man grimaces, clutching his left arm. ‘I think—my arm—my _chest_.’

This makes Robb shoot up from his seat in realization, hollering to the bus driver, ‘This man is having a heart attack! We need an ambulance! Call for them!’

Luckily, the bus comes to a timely, lurching halt at its next stop. 

‘Oi!’ The bus driver yells back. ‘Did you say heart attack?’

Robb nods eagerly, sitting back to the man at his side once the driver starts to call for help. 

‘Lad—’ The man starts to collapse then, losing his balance as he doubles over, clutching at his chest.

‘ _Shit_ ,’ Robb curses, catching him from falling forward. ‘Sir? Stay with me? Are you with me?’

The man, unresponsive, answers the question he has on his mind. ‘The man’s unconscious—I’m a doctor,’ Robb announces, knowing the few people on the bus, including the driver, might be wondering what to do at this point. ‘I’m going to have to perform CPR—I just need everyone to stay clear of us.’

He vaguely hears the driver repeat the message to stay put to the other passengers as he drives around the corner to park the bus. 

Staying focused on laying the man down on the flat surface of the bus’ floor, he hopes everyone is shocked into silence, staying still as he demanded. Thankfully, when he immediately took to chest compressions, he didn't hear a single footstep toward them but only the sounds of his own counting.

Thirty compressions to the stranger’s chest and two breaths into his mouth. 

Then, he palpates for a heartbeat near his wrist, scrutinizing for any movement in his chest or mouth for breathing. 

Nothing.

He repeats the process.

And repeats it, feeling the heel of his hands and interlocked fingers aching. 

_Come on, come on, come on_ , Robb prays inwardly. 

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ he heaves tiredly, bracing himself to start another round of compressions, but then feels someone clasping a hand at his shoulder. He realizes that the paramedics had arrived at his side at some point, and were now asking him to step aside so that they could take over. 

He sees the back door of the bus is wide open when he pushes himself backward, resting his head against one of the railings of the bus.

The paramedic that continues with the chest compressions stops, and turns to her partner, ‘There’s a pulse. He’s breathing.’

Robb closes his eyes, wiping away sweat he feels trailing down his brow bone, hearing some of the passengers on the bus gasping. There’s also a stilted rhythm of clapping behind him. 

‘Well done, son,’ he hears someone say.

_Not dad_ , he tells himself when his eyes fly open, seeing the driver crouching low to meet his eye line. 

‘You alright, son?’ The driver persists to get him to respond.

‘I’m—’

‘So brave,’ a little girl says as she pops up from behind her seat a few rows down. ‘Isn’t he, mummy?’

The girl’s mother nods, weeping openly at the scene before her. The scene of the middle-aged man being carted out of the bus, the paramedics thanking him while they start to leave, the driver asking about his state of mind again, the girl in her mother’s arms—all of it jolts him into action. 

‘I need to make a scene—I mean, I’m late.’ Robb shoots up from his seat, looking down at his watch, realizing he has less than half an hour to get to the train station.

While the driver asks where he needs to be, Robb already makes the calculation that he’d make better time by jogging toward the train station without worrying about the stops the bus would still have to make and the traffic that couldn’t be avoided by taking a taxi.

He starts his jog toward the front doors of the bus, hearing the driver yell after him about something he doesn’t quite hear or understand.

* * *

The clock at the train station reads 23:05. Platform 11b still looks crowded, a sea of people filing out of the Kingsland bound train. The marquee above the platform doesn’t show any delay. All these signs meant he was still on time.

In truth, all the various signs from this evening were telling him that he couldn’t be more of an idiot for leaving this moment up to fate. Theon might suggest that he subconsciously wanted this to happen, that he wanted some sort of dramatic entrance to this moment.

‘Excuse me, sorry,’ he would say repeatedly, trying to stand his ground as each passenger from the train tried to brush past him.

His vision, flitting frantically over the crowds, tries to find blue, doe eyes and a head of tousled, blonde curls. 

‘Sorry.’ His apology to a curt-sounding businessman trying to make his way around him is the last one he makes as he notices the crowds dispersing. Only a few stragglers emerge from the train doors. None of them are her. 

Then, the dinging signal and the train personnel announce to stand clear of the doors. He tries to ignore a sharp, plummeting feeling in his stomach as he turns to check his surroundings. Even when he tries to go back and scan the large meeting hall of the train station, where many are seated or standing, he tries to rationalize that he might have just missed her instead of focusing on his growing dread. 

_23:10._

_23:23._

_23:40._

At quarter to, he realizes that he had forgotten Margaery’s flowers on the bus, something he’s sure the driver was calling him back for. 

‘Right,’ he says under his breath, gathering himself up from his seat in the meeting hall. He also gathers the last bit of courage he was reminded of on the bus, where he recalled his father’s words to be brave in the face of fear. Just like he always had to be whenever he had helped someone in need at the hospital. Just like he was on the bus. It was time to face whatever would come from this.

If Margaery had changed her mind, if she was going to find him at another time, he still had the nerve to face her. At least, this is what he tells himself as he finds a taxi back to the hospital. He also reasons that if he goes back to the hospital to find himself something to work on at home, he can avoid seeing the partygoers celebrating with their loved ones in his building. He could easily slip in after all the festivities, work on some assessments for his students, and then hopefully slip into a dreamless sleep.

As he makes his way into the hospital, just after midnight, he makes his way to the quiet corridor of his office. Only some nurses and doctors notice his determined steps and greet him quickly on his way. But his steps take a slow approach at the sight of light flooding the floor at his doorway. He doesn’t remember leaving his office open, nor does he remember leaving any lights on. 

‘Meera,’ he says to the first nurse that he sees come by the nurses’ station.

‘Happy New Year’s, Dr. Stark.’

‘Yes, cheers, Happy New Year’s… My office, Meera… I didn’t know Grenn was back for cleaning. I thought he left for the day. You know I’d rather do my own cleaning.’

‘Oh,’ Meera stops for a moment to smile, and it’s as if she were hesitant to say more. ‘Your… wife insisted that one of the cleaners open up your office so she could wait for you.’

‘My… what?’

He turns away from Meera’s shrug and heads down his office’s corridor again, his heart hammering away in his chest.

Standing outside his office, clutching at the door’s frame, he sees Margaery seated at his desk. Her doe eyes squint at his computer screen. Her tousled, blonde curls keep falling in her face, so she keeps tucking her long bangs behind her ears. 

He isn’t breathless after a long, laborious day, and he took his time to get here, but he can’t seem to find strength in his voice to properly call out, ‘Margaery.’ 

She doesn’t lift her gaze, concentrating on his computer screen like she’s on a mission.

‘Margaery,’ he tries louder, clearing his throat. 

She finally looks up, eyes wide. ‘Robb,’ she says, embarrassed.

‘My wife?’ He finally enters his office, looking around, expecting to find Theon or Sansa or someone who could very well be playing an elaborate joke on him.

‘Oh,’ she blushes. ‘I didn’t want to be a bother to anyone. I just had to be… creative to find a way in here so I could wait for you.’

He’s not surprised by this, but by something else. ‘You were waiting for me?’ 

‘I tried ringing you up and I even texted before I got in. I packed up quicker than I anticipated, so I got on an earlier train.’

He pulls up a chair to where she sits behind his computer, settling to sit next to her, noticing that she’s cleaned up his computer’s desktop of its usual clutter. He would find it comical that she couldn’t help but do this if it wasn’t for the shock of her being here now. It was just the two of them. This wasn’t a joke. _This_ was real and happening, and it only took a series of mental pushes and pulls, a group of conflicting voices, and a heart attack to get him to this moment.

He rubs his face vigorously, realizing, ‘I turned off my phone. Sorry.’ 

‘Robb…’ she starts slowly, making him lift his head to properly meet her eyes. ‘I came back for you.’

‘I know,’ he says, nodding. ‘Your grandmother told me.’

‘No,’ she replies, she fists a handful of her long skirt at her knee, then releases it. ‘The first time I came back, I came back for you. It wasn’t because I just wanted to discuss your letter like I only meant to ask questions about it or discuss your syntax—’

A puff of laughter sputters out unexpectedly at that, and he realizes that his mind veers into hopeful territory again. She’s here in his office, isn’t she? Not a single frown line is marring her delicate features. These are the signs he was waiting for all day.

‘What?’ 

‘I spent the whole day debating whether or not I should make a big gesture of meeting you tonight. But you’ve been the one making big gestures, and you’re here again. Theon said—’ 

‘Once and for all,’ she pauses, taking hold of his hands, ‘I’m going to forget about Theon and even Sansa right now. They got us here, but I think we can manage this bit.’ 

He nods, biting down on his amused smile. He feels her thumb circling the inside of his palm, calming him. He tells her, ‘Then, I should tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I made you think that I couldn’t deal with our issues, with my issues. Now, more than ever, I have to remember what I told you years ago.’

Her head tilts, and she asks, ‘What’s that?’

‘I told you even before we got together that you should be with someone that takes you for all your faults, for everything that you are. I also told you that you shouldn’t let that someone get in the way of who you want to be. And that someone definitely isn’t perfect, so you need to call them out on their faults too.’ 

‘That someone seems quite alright,’ she says, smiling warmly, seemingly remembering this fond memory. ‘But, if I remember correctly, when we were together, I never gave you an inch if I knew you were being a prick about something.’

He shakes his head, continuing, ‘I mean it. For someone as ambitious as you are, Marge, you’ve cared so deeply about your friends and family, to the point of putting their happiness over yours. Loras… Renly… even me.’ 

‘I left you…’ She bites down on her bottom lip.

‘And you came back because you saw how much I needed you in my letter. You stayed in Kingsland when you could’ve left without reconciling with me. And when you were at my flat, you told me that you wanted to be in my life again, no matter what. For good.’

‘It’s true,’ she says, nodding. ‘All of it.’

‘It is different this time, Marge. I’m different,’ he promises, and he brings up one of her hands to brush a soft kiss against her knuckles. ‘You deserve happiness, and you shouldn’t have to sacrifice your happiness, especially if I’m in your way. I’m done being an idiot who romanticizes about everything. I don’t ever want to make you feel like I’m trying to box you into my ideals about family and children. After talking to my mum over Christmas, I realized that I don’t even believe in half of the things I kept telling you and—’

‘Slow down, love,’ she says, squeezing his hands. She shushes him, then, ‘I love that you whisk me away sometimes. If we had our timing straight, I would’ve been thrilled by you surprising me at the train station.’ 

‘Really…’

‘Just because I’m more of a realist than you, doesn’t mean I’m above a bit of romance.’ Her mouth twitches, and he knows she’s trying to temper her smirk. Seriously, she continues, ‘I found this…’

He watches her take her hands back so she can twist in her seat. Behind her, she pulls up her large purse. From inside it, she takes out a familiar sheet of folded paper. ‘Your letter—a part of it. I thought I gave it all back to you, but I must have missed this page…’

‘What—’

As much as his heart swells from the sight of her proudly looking over it, he instinctively flinches from the anticipation of her reading it out loud as she looks poised to do so.

‘ _No matter where I am in my life, no matter where you are, I’ll always wish we were closer. If you want me to be with you, I’ll go to you. If you want to come back, just know that it doesn’t matter where we are. You’re my home, Margaery…_ ’ She trails off, her fingertips brushing over her lips as she scans over his letter. ‘I may have missed this page on purpose.’

When her eyes finally turn away from his letter, settling on his, he can’t take the incessant beating in his chest. Now, each beat seems to push him forward. Then, because she leans in too, he’s close enough to bring his hands up to thread through her hair. For a moment, he stares reverently at her, searching her face, inches from his, and he just smiles. 

‘I bought you flowers. I just forgot them on the bus when I got distracted by this man who was having a heart attack next to me,’ he says.

‘What?’ Her eyes widen at that, and she frowns. ‘Is he—’

He shakes his head, laughing. ‘It’s fine, he’s fine—I’m not getting distracted—Sorry, I’m going to shut up and kiss you now.’

The bridge of her nose wrinkles and her hands come up to cradle his grasp on her. ‘How romantic,’ she teases.

He captures her smiling mouth then, and, even as he moves his lips over hers, coaxing her mouth to open for him, he can’t help but smile through their kissing either. He can’t help but feel _this_ happy. 

He also can’t deny how differently this kiss feels from the frenzied one they shared in the elevator. She takes her time, and so does he. He even feels himself dipping back into the memory of their first kiss. Everything about Margaery is familiar; her lips are just as soft, her hair still has that same sweet scent, and the quiet gasp she does just before he kisses her are all so familiar. But, just like their first kiss, he feels the thrill of something new burgeoning. They could begin again, stronger and willing to fight harder for their relationship.

As she pulls away, she pecks his lips, then, ‘Oh love…’ 

He hadn’t realized his eyes were welling up until her fingers delicately wipe a few tears away. He assures her, ‘I’m just happy, I really am… I’m also shattered from today if you don’t mind me admitting.’

‘I don’t mind at all,’ she replies, gathering him up as she stands. She gestures to the small couch at the far corner of his office. ‘Go sit down and give me a minute.’

He shuffles toward the couch as she leaves and he heaves a sigh when he sits down. It’s not the couch he wishes he could rest in tonight, but he’s content for now.

‘Robb, darling,’ he hears Margaery say at his doorway. In her hands, she has a white, folded blanket. Hopefully, it was a heated one from the warming cabinets. ‘You were dozed off. Today must have been eventful.’

Rubbing his eyes, he realizes that he must have closed his eyes as soon as she left him. He apologizes and embraces her as she sidles up next to him. He spreads the warm blanket between them, and thinks to ask, ‘I have to ask, how did you know I’d come back to my office tonight?’

She shrugs. ‘This is where I could always find you. Other than your flat, which I’m betting you were avoiding because of all the New Year’s partying, this would be the perfect place to hideout in the meantime. I mean… I was hopeful that you wouldn’t be spending New Year’s with anyone else.’

‘If you’re happy with spending your night on this lumpy couch, not drinking champagne or eating canapes, then there’s no other way I’d be spending New Year’s.’ He moves to kiss her on the cheek, and he hears her make a satisfied sound as she leans into his kiss.

Then, as she tucks her head under his chin, resting it on his chest, and stretching her limbs out on the rest of the couch, she asks, ‘This is going to be hard, isn’t it?’

He knows exactly what she means. He knows that there will be more conflict ahead of them, regardless of his new support for her career. There were also more discussions to be had about what their new life would be like. Would it include children? Would he be relinquishing some of his responsibilities at work so Margaery could keep working? Wouldn’t she want to spend time at home too? So, the finer details weren’t handled yet…

‘It will be,’ he tells her as a short answer, more questions swirling in his head. Except, there was still one constant thing he didn’t have to think too hard on. ‘But, I trust you, Marge. Do you trust me?’

She turns her head so she can look up at him. ‘I do,’ she tells him, smiling.

‘Then, let’s not think about too much tonight,’ he says, his fingers tracing along her jaw. 

‘I suppose… we have the rest of our days to work it out.’ Margaery’s eyelids seem to droop a bit, possibly mimicking his. 

Somehow, she finds sleep quicker, and, as he tucks her further into the blanket that envelops them, he finally decides he can slip into sleep as well. One he knows won’t be as fitful as his recent ones.

  
  



End file.
